tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177077259432101312024-03-13T11:45:09.851+00:00 Run for your Life Online diary of an Octogenarian runner....
oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.comBlogger436125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-3126408717415576202020-09-09T17:34:00.113+01:002020-12-19T21:38:24.354+00:00Conte partiro - time to say goodbye......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center">Shortly after the Chernobyl disaster in 1986 I was climbing in the Lake District with members of the Vibram Mountaineering Club. No-one knows quite how it came about, I suspect beer was involved, a handful of us talked each other into doing a 5 mile Fun Run 6 weeks hence. I'd never run in my life, my passion was climbing, being among mountains.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="center">Climbing into Tower Gap, Tower Ridge, on a solo ascent of Ben Nevis. </div><div align="center">(Photo courtesy Stuart Scott)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winter traverse of Seana Braigh - Northern Scotland<br />
(Photo courtesy Stuart Scott)</td></tr>
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To be honest, I didn't take it seriously. It was just something different to do, a one off diversion. Nothing could replace my love of mountaineering, summer and winter, snow or shine.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Just nip up there, it'll make a good shot" Stuart said. So I did!<br />On the Clach Glas/Blaven traverse - Isle of Skye<br />
(Photo courtesy Stuart Scott)</td></tr>
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In fact, that 'poxy little Fun Run', as someone called it, proved to be the dawn of my running career. I surprised myself by finishing the hilly 5 miles in 38 minutes with two thirds of the field behind me. At the age of 55. Time to do some serious training, I thought, so joined a jogging class at Huddersfield Sports Centre.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cross Keys relay winning pub team. I'm the bearded one. Alan Taylor is third from left</td></tr>
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The class was led by Alan Taylor, a very good marathon runner who very soon told me I was fast enough to start racing. I suspected it was because he was a man short for the Cross Keys Relay team! The Mountain Goat, as I was infamously called, was given a 2½ mile fell section to run. We won and came away with a large silver cup, a Shield and a car boot full of canned beer.<br />
That win sparked a whole series of races and within another few months had a 10K time of 42.34, 10 miles in 68.34 and a ½ marathon time of 85.33 The annoying thing was, I hadn't actually won anything.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first marathon win - of seven. </td></tr>
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After just 15 months of running I struck luchy in the 1987 Pennine Marathon which seasoned runners told me had around 2,000ft of ascent in its 26.2 mile circuit. It took place on a blistering July day and many runners fell by the wayside suffering from cramp, hear exhaustion, dehydration or blisters. Crossing the line in 3.30.04 I was declared winner of the M55 category and called onto the rostrum amid great applause to be handed a silver cup, voucher for £25 and large green bath towel which has since graced many a club changing room during races up and down the country. The mountain goat had graduated. <br />
Life would never be the same again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Setting a new M55 course record - 3.05.47 in my 2nd Pennine marathon.<br />
In a later 'Pennine' Ron Hill ran the first 10 miles with me and presented prizes at the end. "Ah, we meet again" he said, as I climbed onto the stage.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdMUd3WFi10S7krxG9PktWerzDRtCn9NBsZlRAwqJbrmN5QGY791bwzevBJdeoGSlUefAe_qSRgDXQKKW2VkxSfteu0Rih-WdVKvdFHnUf1ZHE3PE4k0umredUwRY1N382dTU_F9nt3Q/s1600/Penning+Dr+Ron+Hill+%25282%2529.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="284" data-original-width="373" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdMUd3WFi10S7krxG9PktWerzDRtCn9NBsZlRAwqJbrmN5QGY791bwzevBJdeoGSlUefAe_qSRgDXQKKW2VkxSfteu0Rih-WdVKvdFHnUf1ZHE3PE4k0umredUwRY1N382dTU_F9nt3Q/s400/Penning+Dr+Ron+Hill+%25282%2529.png" width="400" /> </a></div>
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I'd become an athlete and from then on I'd have to train, act and behave like one. Social habits, diet and drinking,, sleep times all changed. I set myself two goals, to one day win my age category in the Three Peaks of Yorkshire, which became my all time favourite race, and to get my marathon time down to sub 3 hours. In 1993 I achieved both on consecutive Sundays. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Unbelievably, just seven days apart!</div><div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Ajit and Ranjit all set for the London Marathon</td></tr>
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My friend, Ajit Singh, had insisted I run London with him. "It's the best marathon in the world, like a world championship and you'll beat them all" he said, meaning all the M60's category. We stayed with wonderful Sikh friends of his at Dagenham East on Saturday night, then got the train to Blackheath early Sunday morning and lined up with Good For Age Veterans in the Red start.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winning the Mens O/60 category</td></tr>
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I was only a few yards from the front and ran the first mile in 6 minutes before settling down to my race pace. Ajit was right, I did beat them all, taking the British Championship and, I was told, finished 2nd fastest O/60 in the world that year. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Ajit was over the moon<br />
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The Three Peaks was a different kettle of fish, 24 miles of heather, bog, rocks and stony trails with nearly 5,000ft of ascent over Penyghent, Whernside and Ingleborough. Friends said I was mad to attempt it only seven days after London, but I was fit and brimming with confidence. After a couple of easy training runs on the fells I was rarin' to go.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steep pull up Ingleborough in the Peaks race - white headband.</td></tr>
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"> My legs felt no after effects of London and I ran the Peaks like a well oiled machine to easily finish first O/60 in 4.09.27. So far as I know, no other athlete has completed that double before and I doubt if anyone will. I ran London twice, the Pennine marathon five times and the Yorkshire three Peaks three times, winning my age category in all of them. </div><div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two winning Peaks medals flanking the English O/70's Fell running Championship medal</td></tr>
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Of all my racing trophies the Peaks medals come top of the list along with one Presented to me after winning the inaugural men's O/70 English Fell Running Championship in 2004. The London medals were absolute crap. They weren't even engraved but came with a brief letter from Alan Storey saying what I'd achieved. I was disgusted, especially as it was the most expensive race i'd ever entered.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My wonderful partner - 1st British Lady ahead of Brenda Robinson in the World Mountain Running Championships - finishing with a circuit of the Track after 5 miles of uphill running, Switzerland</td></tr>
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In 1991 I met my wonderful partner and persuaded her to join Longwood Harriers. Becoming known as the Longwood raiding party we ran, and won, many races from 4 miles to ½ marathon both on the road and on the fells, in Britain and abroad.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She can climb too. Soloing a route in the Swiss Alps</td></tr>
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Wherever we went, our running gear went with us. We ran wonderful trails or climbed together both home and abroad, in Crete, La Palma, Tenerife, Gran Canaria, Menorca and the Swiss Alps. Hot favourites were the Eiger Trail and the run back to Grindelwald from Kleine Scheidegg, the Volcano Route, or the rocky run down from the 8,000ft Rocque de los Muchachos in the mountainous island of La Palma. In Tenerife we ran up Mount Teide, Spain's highest mountain, but thankfully weren't allowed on the very top. I was knackered and hyper ventilating! 10,000ft is my limit.</div><div style="text-align: center;">For all those exotic places, her favourite place on earth is the tiny island of Ulva in the Inner Hebrides!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRik33OOxHcswvdc1KwvjRzb3Gmudjxm1cNLgmKjKTb2a1JDme-VF59xobIgBubIpYp4qPRxkypLPxvXxrIyVTiE47Z608p1PQqUHkNbDykB82UdZUVOd3TXcj1mCUr9lLTr_pyRU4D6Y/s1600/4096+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="643" data-original-width="512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRik33OOxHcswvdc1KwvjRzb3Gmudjxm1cNLgmKjKTb2a1JDme-VF59xobIgBubIpYp4qPRxkypLPxvXxrIyVTiE47Z608p1PQqUHkNbDykB82UdZUVOd3TXcj1mCUr9lLTr_pyRU4D6Y/s400/4096+%25282%2529.JPG" width="317" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating my final Munro with a bottle of Long Mountain. <br />On the summit of Beinn Fhionlaidh, Glen Etive, May 2002. <br />Picture courtesy of the Scottish Mountaineering Club archives</td></tr>
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She was with me to run/walk my last 26 Munros (283 Scottish Mountains over 3,000ft) during the fortnight straddling my 70th birthday. We camped wild with the persistent call of cuckoos. White hares ran the snowy tops adding interest to our long walks and climbs. It was a delectable fortnight and I couldn't have wished for better company. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Not just because she did the cooking!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5iQjMhjDQlnMM3sSFARiramwsXIu1vHmRWGXyX_RAS4nMKVc0h-mFOVzB2oi4tzbFw7wVITSlsdwHBv4Yu-9nNMsq58oifcd_q4pZptkIzTxTKcTDJkrvttZMhej2WC-KmU_G7TIe60I/s765/10+crossings.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="651" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5iQjMhjDQlnMM3sSFARiramwsXIu1vHmRWGXyX_RAS4nMKVc0h-mFOVzB2oi4tzbFw7wVITSlsdwHBv4Yu-9nNMsq58oifcd_q4pZptkIzTxTKcTDJkrvttZMhej2WC-KmU_G7TIe60I/s320/10+crossings.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Cameron McNeish presenting me with trophies for ten unaided crossings of Scotland. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Park Hotel, Montrose.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">She also accompanied me on three of eleven Coast to Coast backpacking walks across the wilder parts of Scotland, (Grest Outdoor Challenges) that take place every May.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="text-align: center;">We are the music makers</span></div></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">
and we are the dreamers of dreams.<br />
Wandering by lone sea breakers<br /> and sitting by desolate streams.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoJ21Na5TQ9I3XqXJnyMD896aoQPVZh6tOzTIK53ib6EPs6k2CF2IPyTRtUZe-echQ50FGCdsNqCu_524sLBY69MpAZvcBwW2kmx465bhpjU_TGyLoYU3SUpsTz3BnW0t89Vv5P3lYQ4/s1600/Stuart+on+Ange%2527s+Peak.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1198" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoJ21Na5TQ9I3XqXJnyMD896aoQPVZh6tOzTIK53ib6EPs6k2CF2IPyTRtUZe-echQ50FGCdsNqCu_524sLBY69MpAZvcBwW2kmx465bhpjU_TGyLoYU3SUpsTz3BnW0t89Vv5P3lYQ4/s320/Stuart+on+Ange%2527s+Peak.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dr Stuart Scott on Angels Peak during our 38 mile run round Cairngorm tops</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
Another great running and mountaineering partner was Dr Stuart Scott who lectured at Plymouth University and with whom I did my longest runs. A memorable Scottish one took us over snow covered mountains from Lairig Leacach bothy, taking in all the Munros of the Great Lochaber Traverse and over Ben Nevis before a joyous 4,00ft run down packed snow fields and the rocky path to Fort William. <br />
An experience I shall never forget.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40hrBWOzDP5DQHoLL2Eysz2UU9wnpEzcrtT78e4ApPdpjvxBaQpgiCMjo-vAE_qd9JLQzAzHb_7KWcVGua0FaCRlqqcaIpdWcSxhCT-JIjDVXCYXI3CKLaQ9-qAI-wZ0qjGxx3W4iyb0/s1600/On+Ben+Hope.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="732" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40hrBWOzDP5DQHoLL2Eysz2UU9wnpEzcrtT78e4ApPdpjvxBaQpgiCMjo-vAE_qd9JLQzAzHb_7KWcVGua0FaCRlqqcaIpdWcSxhCT-JIjDVXCYXI3CKLaQ9-qAI-wZ0qjGxx3W4iyb0/s400/On+Ben+Hope.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On a run up Ben Hope looking across to the huge bulk of Ben Loyal <br />
(Courtesy Stuart Scott)</td></tr>
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He was with me over many Munros and I was glad of his company and navigational skills in wild winter weather. He loved the mountains as much as me and together we could travel at speed over the roughest terrain often wearing only shorts, studs and a bum bag.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYkkzRlNTNfT7VrQLiQsWQfwC7MqLQOgfFsjeQP0g1Fy_ByPR62tkl_WuzgNeypigRYP0CJ_v8y8f7Cq68FJFMZEarD9f70PXzQl0qL8aHtuMA6MCHOqqoZ_vThgbvvQSbifQ17Badqc/s1600/Stuart+%2526+Maria.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="1216" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYkkzRlNTNfT7VrQLiQsWQfwC7MqLQOgfFsjeQP0g1Fy_ByPR62tkl_WuzgNeypigRYP0CJ_v8y8f7Cq68FJFMZEarD9f70PXzQl0qL8aHtuMA6MCHOqqoZ_vThgbvvQSbifQ17Badqc/s400/Stuart+%2526+Maria.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart & Maria, getting high in Italy</td></tr>
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"Gear shops wont make much money out of you two" passers by remarked as we raced over Arkle. He's now happily married to a charming Dutch lady but has fallen out with bonnie Scotland, ostensibly because of ticks, midges and unpredictable weather, and now spends holidays getting high in Italy. I've missed him.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglh5RDzd1PFPlzu_YMLdiAOI7ljAn22TWvttAnUdBSUMD8GlN8NmUeys7XmXrINRwj8mMWWLZ4b4goPpdcZIE6wAJHHdlHLiIMmDkPYNmMbpq_nLXT_mHUUiFNIj-3m-g3E-gbbsTGWnY/s1600/Relaxation.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1033" data-original-width="1600" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglh5RDzd1PFPlzu_YMLdiAOI7ljAn22TWvttAnUdBSUMD8GlN8NmUeys7XmXrINRwj8mMWWLZ4b4goPpdcZIE6wAJHHdlHLiIMmDkPYNmMbpq_nLXT_mHUUiFNIj-3m-g3E-gbbsTGWnY/s400/Relaxation.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time to relax, to finally admit to myself those days have gone</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
Sadly, all such things come to an end. After more than 40,000 miles of running it's time to relax and indulge myself in all the incredible memories, and maybe a glass or two of wine. Looking back, I cannot believe what I've achieved. I watch runners completing the Peaks with tears in my eyes, wondering how on earth I did it at my time of life. <br />
The wild moors and high mountains are timeless, you don't venture there for fast times but for long days of pure enjoyment. Kilian Jornet once said "If you don't enjoy what you're doing, you will never improve". Well, believe me, I've enjoyed every minute of it, lived my dreams, and can say without hesitation,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Vixi, I have lived</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sseyUtOvetA&ab_channel=gdgest"><span style="color: #f1c232;">Joy Of Living</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-55577009230918037012020-08-26T14:54:00.001+01:002020-08-26T15:22:26.870+01:00A fair drop o' watter...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Our weekend activities were somewhat curtailed by inclement weather. After racking our brains all Saturday, trying to solve a cryptic crossword, we sat twiddling our thumbs, waiting for a dry spell. Late on Sunday morning it relented sufficiently for us to venture out. Clad in waterproofs!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmV7e-JIjyoYrM7LAXFzdvtzAOqthVkHE9ROJD5dwWjyf2J2kxhdvTEzJjjFhN_VEgUklijXbmCJlpC8D3LDvCzBNR4AEiYqAn2Cgpzw5ZR6bIu91EM8X3m6LEg3ynBq3DzDSajEG0GGQ/s1600/Hebden+Beck+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1411" data-original-width="1416" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmV7e-JIjyoYrM7LAXFzdvtzAOqthVkHE9ROJD5dwWjyf2J2kxhdvTEzJjjFhN_VEgUklijXbmCJlpC8D3LDvCzBNR4AEiYqAn2Cgpzw5ZR6bIu91EM8X3m6LEg3ynBq3DzDSajEG0GGQ/s400/Hebden+Beck+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hebden Beck by the Miner's Bridge (Click to enlarge)</td></tr>
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A group of archaeologists seemed oblivious to the weather as they sieved and scraped at the footings of old workings by the rushing waters of Hebden Beck near the Miner's Bridge.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjpSgUWpbRhfAJ2Ni3m3G3CQ9HmjWqpqAYyRI1uOcJEOltkz8C3ojtgzOyJBY9GbACwHu_mPtT1a9-Gv4uQE2FRe_tM9XuqAe6HQermoFfe8wF0TOdogJ5vinrHqZD1xbx9CKdLZf4xk/s1600/Hebden+Beck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1071" data-original-width="1600" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjpSgUWpbRhfAJ2Ni3m3G3CQ9HmjWqpqAYyRI1uOcJEOltkz8C3ojtgzOyJBY9GbACwHu_mPtT1a9-Gv4uQE2FRe_tM9XuqAe6HQermoFfe8wF0TOdogJ5vinrHqZD1xbx9CKdLZf4xk/s400/Hebden+Beck.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stepping stones</td></tr>
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Higher up the ghyll, stepping stones across the beck were partially submerged so we got wet feet crossing to the other side.</div>
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Why couldn't they have set them a little higher?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOzvF3cGdMY0XmUzKyQ8mu06QUvmOBWoaW4lw4Ahgsc_YOhvYcl_w2XW-JdCYfk9yuO9UK_2HKv8Y3M0sqDJe89YexRHIgjIvGiLFfp28ioOmAu7Bs0y5CWkGypBUJ0Scewbj3_msfNw/s1600/Tinker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1035" data-original-width="1600" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOzvF3cGdMY0XmUzKyQ8mu06QUvmOBWoaW4lw4Ahgsc_YOhvYcl_w2XW-JdCYfk9yuO9UK_2HKv8Y3M0sqDJe89YexRHIgjIvGiLFfp28ioOmAu7Bs0y5CWkGypBUJ0Scewbj3_msfNw/s400/Tinker.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plodding up Tinker's Lane</td></tr>
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We turned left up Tinker's Lane, a steep, grassy pull at first, then increasingly muddy towards the farm at High Garnshaw. We turned downhill through the pasture and back to the village. </div>
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We'd be interested to know how Tinker's Lane got its name?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsj8H_H9TSLhxfTSzgJi67aBjPiBqPl_PPbfW3DSfuDNzmUPXhg9BFuSNhF8yEdHhxnSuN4AiTAWXV7jgKc4W0iRhdvUmU7XlTTZnRq3xzqunvRtlFWXCZkKr94J2c0Nhw1DrWtxVmwsQ/s1600/Loup+Scar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1167" data-original-width="1449" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsj8H_H9TSLhxfTSzgJi67aBjPiBqPl_PPbfW3DSfuDNzmUPXhg9BFuSNhF8yEdHhxnSuN4AiTAWXV7jgKc4W0iRhdvUmU7XlTTZnRq3xzqunvRtlFWXCZkKr94J2c0Nhw1DrWtxVmwsQ/s400/Loup+Scar.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A turbulent River Wharfe at Loup Scar</td></tr>
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After a little over 4 miles we were back home for a late lunch. The heavens opened again, the rain poured, the river rose and we were glad to be back, snug and cosy. by a warm stove.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Now, where's that crossword?</div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-85777108449041542002020-08-19T20:52:00.000+01:002020-08-19T20:52:01.426+01:00Runner's high.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In my early days of running I sat down one night and tried to describe what running meant to me, why I enjoyed it so much. </div>
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The following poem trickled down the page. </div>
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">Wildrunners</u></div>
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There are days</div>
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On paths that zig-zag</div>
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High into the hills</div>
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We pass beyond the pain,</div>
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Catch that tingling in the scalp</div>
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That tells us soon</div>
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We'll treadmill out of time,</div>
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Out of self.</div>
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<br /></div>
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To rufflings of raven's wings</div>
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We'll rise above the stones,</div>
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Sail in the eye of the wind</div>
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To worlds beyond the womb.</div>
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In that transmigratory state</div>
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That's neither flesh nor blood.</div>
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Male or female, warm or cold,</div>
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We'll run, like disembodied joys,</div>
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The gauntlet of eternity.</div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-91058738833658314782020-08-12T16:39:00.000+01:002020-08-15T07:16:34.818+01:00Last fling before the Glorious Twelfth....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Many years ago while in farm service I acquired an old 12-bore shotgun with a kick like a mule. My boss wouldn't allow it in the house or on the premises so I'd to hide it in a hollow oak tree in a nearby field. Its use was a means of supplementing my meagre income. The local shopkeeper would pay 4/- for each rabbit I shot.</div>
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Years later after leaving the R.A.F. (where I qualified as a Marksman during the Suez crisis) I resumed my shooting activities for very much the same reasons as before. I was broke and I needed food, so many of my meals came from the land. Anybody's land. Folk have jokingly remarked that it was as a poacher I learned to run so fast. I wasn't shooting for pleasure, only for the pot and only for myself.</div>
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Which leads me nicely to something I hate. The annual slaughter of birds by folk who pay a great deal of money to kill as many as they possibly can. They call it sport! <br />
On a local estate pheasant and partridge poults are bought in by the thousand each Spring for trigger happy people to blast from the sky later in the year.<br />
. A video was once posted showing clouds of duck flying in to be fed by a chap rattling a bucket. It was followed later by a photograph showing carcases of those very same ducks spread on the ground before a group of posing, beaming shooters.</div>
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They call it sport. I call it carnage. </div>
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Once we had a keeper more sympathetic towards all wildlife. I could chat with him and could accept grouse shooting and the Glorious Twelfth. We had a lot in common. In those days it was a pleasure to run the local moor. Resident ravens were almost friendly. They'd trail me, knowing they were safe. Hen harriers quartered the moor, merlin would flash by, low along some banking. We'd frequently hear the mewing of buzzard, catch sight of a peregrine, or occasionally a red kite would stop us in our tracks...…. </div>
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…...until we got a new keeper whose wealthy foreign landowner was only interested in grouse. Everything else had to be trapped, shot or quietly poisoned. Frequently I'd catch my foot in one of the hundreds of snares and be brought down heavily, miles from home. We'd come across 'stink pits' - heaps of rotting carcasses surrounded by a ring of snares to trap unwary foxes. Once trapped their corpses would be added to the disgusting pile. I've even come across an illegal gin trap and heard rumours of dogs being poisoned. Every year we hear of raptors being shot or poisoned in various parts of the country. </div>
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The B.A.S.C. would have us believe otherwise, claiming shooting activities are all above board and in the interest of conservation. For someone who never swears, all I can say is bollocks.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1iAJj57eJuDDDVCb-YAbaF4mj1juapmc3tiwkNAGaThS-J4wLI8X_m5kw3eM6YaxD9j_sMaA_IPGZ92LuknwHqc2U6XB7OezC8cx_d19haRx-71s29DVMS2tZStJZZQCYiPhKFbb8Pb8/s1600/Heather1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1iAJj57eJuDDDVCb-YAbaF4mj1juapmc3tiwkNAGaThS-J4wLI8X_m5kw3eM6YaxD9j_sMaA_IPGZ92LuknwHqc2U6XB7OezC8cx_d19haRx-71s29DVMS2tZStJZZQCYiPhKFbb8Pb8/s400/Heather1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Good weather last weekend presented us with an opportunity to walk/run the moors prior to the 'glorious twelfth'. On our way up it seemed curlews, lapwings, redshank and oyster catchers have all departed, back to their winter quarters. It was eerily quiet. Already!</div>
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Higher up, heather was in full bloom but there was a stiff breeze that rather killed its sweet smell. Even when we lay in it. My wonderful partner would have nothing of the 'stiff breeze' saying it was more a full blown gale. On reaching the high point at 1,500ft she turned her hood up!</div>
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We returned by the 'long wall', one of three measured miles I ran in marathon training days. Thirty years ago I'd easily run each one sub 6 minutes. Nowadays it takes rather longer! </div>
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I can't skip over the grassy tussocks and rocky slopes as I used to do. Now, my wonderful partner probably copes better than me.</div>
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We'd a wonderful weekend but it was nice to get home and relax with a nice glass of wine before the slaughtering guns take over the moor</div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-18755928853784379412020-07-29T13:37:00.010+01:002020-08-01T09:38:37.438+01:00Rights of way......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My wonderful partner is currently surveying Public Rights of Way, making
sure they're still accessible and all stiles and crossing points still exist
so that walkers may pass unhindered., It's one of her duties as a
Yorkshire Dales National Park volunteer Ranger.
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In mixed weather and lowering skies we set out to do two of these
paths. Judging by their appearance neither had been used for some time
though one, from Yarnbury to Hebden Ghyll, had been a favourite of mine in
racing days. The urge to run it again was irresistible. So
I did...
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avoiding the reeds
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Good stile, poor lambing gate
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Getting a bit of speed up
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Easy running
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<div style="text-align: center;">Not many runners round here...</div>
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Crossing a culvert
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Running - with what looks like a tree on my back!
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Sheep thinking "What the hell are they up to?"
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The joy of movement
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Wait for me...
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By heck, I'm enjoying this...a final sprint as my old body seemed to have taken on a new lease of life. Just for the day.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">That was the end of the first footpath survey. As anyone can see, it
doesn't look much like a right of way but it exists on the map so has to be
kept open.</div>
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Next day we did the other one, from High Lane to Low Garnshaw, this time as an
enjoyable walk for my rickety legs said they'd done enough running.
Occasionally I listen to my body!
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Dilapidated building, wall and stile
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A bit tight, but accessible
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A muddy cripple 'ole for sheep
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View across the Wharfe valley
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4RwFp3uKuzpgHDKH__uYZPNghcHo7xxcgtA_p68hIBI70VbWVdqAXAeN72YEbTNXcaGfiywdtlKascTj-GgkfTDX1e5T6leATLTY-OmBQEho2xiCx4DJ4f_xzhb-FFFbjnX_WOvpsfU/s1600/ROW6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="832" data-original-width="1249" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4RwFp3uKuzpgHDKH__uYZPNghcHo7xxcgtA_p68hIBI70VbWVdqAXAeN72YEbTNXcaGfiywdtlKascTj-GgkfTDX1e5T6leATLTY-OmBQEho2xiCx4DJ4f_xzhb-FFFbjnX_WOvpsfU/s400/ROW6.jpg" width="400" /></a>
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Continuing, map in hand, along the invisible path
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxImQty9-jobbAPCsy2OTDVjR7ktB1OGXc2fxiDib132t8GlqFo0IE9ZMegmzMQc0QK_Qw-pNVUNo8qLA5wWYUKwxZWO5blXbayPUEiYbpUgeQQBS9W7h97EOG93I8pwRqvN_Z2wueeeo/s1600/ROW8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1042" data-original-width="1600" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxImQty9-jobbAPCsy2OTDVjR7ktB1OGXc2fxiDib132t8GlqFo0IE9ZMegmzMQc0QK_Qw-pNVUNo8qLA5wWYUKwxZWO5blXbayPUEiYbpUgeQQBS9W7h97EOG93I8pwRqvN_Z2wueeeo/s400/ROW8.jpg" width="400" /></a>
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Roe Deer sculpture, a well in the field and we've almost reached the finish.
At last, I know where I am.
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I'd have run this very pleasant path before but, like many more people, I
never knew it existed. Now that it's been surveyed the National Parks people
will probably produce a descriptive leaflet to hand out, or sell, to
prospective walkers. I hope not.
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Some places should remain sacred.
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-52624956612715031472020-07-22T17:36:00.002+01:002020-07-23T12:31:09.864+01:00Catch up.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I should re-name this blog "The Occasional Diary of an ex-runner. I don't get out very much now, mainly because of failing eyesight, fear of falling and drooping energy levels. Also because of deteriorating sight, it takes me ages to type, edit and correct what I have to say. So not much blogging either.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQRU4iTFlmGfcBNhJudy0zsgfqAir9CaOR6cVKtNz-Z6OTGRRndAoZD0G1QplVHzvJqA3fCy3ZdAWZ3X-vimbnayI1TDgFQIUDHqgpPV-ciN6Wws5xF1Ucqt2_-qvqOxbuQoZY9D1lG4/s1600/Hub+Church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQRU4iTFlmGfcBNhJudy0zsgfqAir9CaOR6cVKtNz-Z6OTGRRndAoZD0G1QplVHzvJqA3fCy3ZdAWZ3X-vimbnayI1TDgFQIUDHqgpPV-ciN6Wws5xF1Ucqt2_-qvqOxbuQoZY9D1lG4/s400/Hub+Church.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Michaels & All Angels, Hubberholme (Click to enlarge)</td></tr>
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Shortly after lockdown was eased we made the mistake of motoring to Hubberholme. On a Sunday! The world and his wife had turned out too so it was hard work driving along the narrow Dales roads. We parked by the Norman Church, beloved of J.B.Priestley, and noted for Robert Thomson's trademark mouse carvings on the oak pews. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Nd7ehFMAHYAm7u0mfg1E6Prvbp2pabyhaaqklN9I21JknRORKyFq_W8OQM3gjbhVWcAjyFDsSYZKW6pJnI3LUZQimpiovX1H-jugJNi6gxZwkxKr6f5sZYrfxma_xDErgg8rZ-d4ZTk/s1600/Sheila+-+orchids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1600" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Nd7ehFMAHYAm7u0mfg1E6Prvbp2pabyhaaqklN9I21JknRORKyFq_W8OQM3gjbhVWcAjyFDsSYZKW6pJnI3LUZQimpiovX1H-jugJNi6gxZwkxKr6f5sZYrfxma_xDErgg8rZ-d4ZTk/s400/Sheila+-+orchids.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Botanist</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
A cacophony of recently separated sheep and lambs filled the air as we set off following the River Wharfe towards Yockenthwaite. My wonderful partner, an avid botanist, was in search of a rare Butterfly Orchid that had been known to grow in the vicinity. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz4RBm-FWeDH_WzuVBvHaXUeXVjhJgikybgGZ3-U4pPhxWneGbCAyaF2D5M4dcYRKkXomgtU1Qx3iJnMFpVXp4Rz3JcGc9G1h8nWk2Q8smRxXmCxCCe9T3XYP_QnNhsRZTl9cz5ulAIDo/s1600/Butterfly+and+betony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1445" data-original-width="1383" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz4RBm-FWeDH_WzuVBvHaXUeXVjhJgikybgGZ3-U4pPhxWneGbCAyaF2D5M4dcYRKkXomgtU1Qx3iJnMFpVXp4Rz3JcGc9G1h8nWk2Q8smRxXmCxCCe9T3XYP_QnNhsRZTl9cz5ulAIDo/s400/Butterfly+and+betony.jpg" width="382" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butterfly Orchid and betony</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
I'd got some distance ahead when I was shouted back. From the air of excitement in her voice I suspected she'd found what she was looking for. I was right. Growing among the bedstraw, betony and rock roses was a perfect specimen.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbvehSsbS7bW_GNhKgBFZnccAA3Zoem5rpQhui-jeURY4_DYPJ6-ZhivQmTN2-ZR94p1Jhwc-ee94NwyHXey1tvZh3Ecu5DB5LnyCPC5Xzzu2YqYubjCKItmXedP8zkTbwIqjMoR8v11I/s1600/Thyme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1118" data-original-width="1600" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbvehSsbS7bW_GNhKgBFZnccAA3Zoem5rpQhui-jeURY4_DYPJ6-ZhivQmTN2-ZR94p1Jhwc-ee94NwyHXey1tvZh3Ecu5DB5LnyCPC5Xzzu2YqYubjCKItmXedP8zkTbwIqjMoR8v11I/s400/Thyme.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thyme</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
I'd spotted a strange pillow of wild thyme I thought would be a wonderful place to rest my head while the botanist went in search of further specimens. I declined, thinking it might be an ant-hill. Besides, it was almost time to return and face the ever increasing number of cars and motor cycles on our way home through Buckden, Kettlewell and Conistone.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some days later I did something that hadn't been possible for quite some time. My podiatrist agreed to tackle my grossly overgrown toenails which. I said, might easily be used as crampons had I still been a snow and ice climber. After a 15 minute soak she set about the onerous task using all her strength to cut through the thick growth that had accumulated over the last 6 months. She did an excellent job. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I felt great afterwards and almost danced home.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiY2nT8Cfq5fvDRjyriaR8q0wAVlGrFZS7-e9H1SvjURQhUizDPSDWLugUhHb3K3XyOzEf0gXTk1Nl6jWUe82sb9gOMaiwX3ZqG11PcsYnsZkciJZcOajqXB1KYoA5YaZedcR_K-tPkk/s1600/selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1496" data-original-width="1336" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiY2nT8Cfq5fvDRjyriaR8q0wAVlGrFZS7-e9H1SvjURQhUizDPSDWLugUhHb3K3XyOzEf0gXTk1Nl6jWUe82sb9gOMaiwX3ZqG11PcsYnsZkciJZcOajqXB1KYoA5YaZedcR_K-tPkk/s400/selfie.jpg" width="356" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Felling almost human again</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Next day I tripped lightly down to a new barber's shop in the village, aptly called 'The Gent's Room' on account of it being the site of an old Gent's toilet! Sticking my head round the door I enquired in true Yorkshire fashion <br />
"How much is it for a pensioner?"<br />
"£5" was his curt reply. <br />
That'd do for me, especially as it appeared the most luxurious barber's shop I'd ever set foot inside. He was an Asian fellow so we didn't have much conversation but he cut my hair exactly as I told him to. He also cleaned out my hairy ears, trimmed my eyebrows and sent me home smelling like a bunch of flowers. The embarrassment I felt about his stated £5, and the time he spent tidying up my dishevelled head, prompted me to pay rather more!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJmYx9VB98N9KT0mXOkaIJl8uK9Nn9-282ShtR87wf7JMNiwu-iupXdocDfcaY02oc_NG9BAbg79AjHFsssxTLz_h2YgKf1oXTwJlCxwqz_F60qK4gxBtOsK6zioJqoygOrRWHHh5AO8/s1600/Marauder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1547" data-original-width="1292" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJmYx9VB98N9KT0mXOkaIJl8uK9Nn9-282ShtR87wf7JMNiwu-iupXdocDfcaY02oc_NG9BAbg79AjHFsssxTLz_h2YgKf1oXTwJlCxwqz_F60qK4gxBtOsK6zioJqoygOrRWHHh5AO8/s400/Marauder.jpg" width="333" /></a></div>
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I'd a visitor when I got home, a grey squirrel which regularly comes to the bird feeders and tries to steal the nuts. Not very successfully but he's a tenacious little beggar.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXY4AyvnQS1-52AxYOa5Ry2fDBZqdTo2DKZ4eeWyoBkFP-ia6aoxq-JYOvmwEuUwIQvjF4uvf5p6Bnpu0n2kwDxhtQK17jsQh3uvAv1IINT0FZW-UN333XEJ_g3l3wUdwbHpmOAAwmKS8/s1600/Suck+seeds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1252" data-original-width="1597" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXY4AyvnQS1-52AxYOa5Ry2fDBZqdTo2DKZ4eeWyoBkFP-ia6aoxq-JYOvmwEuUwIQvjF4uvf5p6Bnpu0n2kwDxhtQK17jsQh3uvAv1IINT0FZW-UN333XEJ_g3l3wUdwbHpmOAAwmKS8/s400/Suck+seeds.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If at first you don't suck seed, try, try again</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I've also seen him, or her, paying attention to the Niger seed feeder which seems to empty rather quickly nowadays. Surely, he's not sucking seeds through those tiny holes? </div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-4454588193650561972020-06-20T07:50:00.001+01:002020-07-01T20:37:24.586+01:00Summer solstice..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It wasn't easy climbing out of bed at 3.45am but a cup of strong coffee and a spoonful of positive thinking soon had me lacing up my running shoes. Two young girls, members of Vegan Runners, got me to the top of Castle Hill in time for the sumrise.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJNl-D926zeln6Er8pL3uXkvqNAVLpZju9MKLIKBA5xLMYzHRdww7_QvDr44dOoV8AIsZ1bPnqtp3mSbB5gsCQCn7cgAfLd_gu7A-y3GZXVTDQQeuDfWIFBQ1ZYgZh0C7zttcSX8vFHs/s1600/Sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="975" data-original-width="1600" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJNl-D926zeln6Er8pL3uXkvqNAVLpZju9MKLIKBA5xLMYzHRdww7_QvDr44dOoV8AIsZ1bPnqtp3mSbB5gsCQCn7cgAfLd_gu7A-y3GZXVTDQQeuDfWIFBQ1ZYgZh0C7zttcSX8vFHs/s400/Sunrise.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Many folk were there before us, most of whom had driven there judging by the number of cars parked at the summit.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQi00DsLJomTiUt7uXM0a8nbl6purtgvwr7vy_aSV7KNnQcANfjCi0Un3Lxfx9SLWacxvHy7W0T-e0Ww7SbvZ3JNmqcVrR6d5fXfiZR_9KCpF_3LCa9UBeU-AcbBnb6vzdPzGzZv7TPa4/s1600/Druids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1114" data-original-width="1600" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQi00DsLJomTiUt7uXM0a8nbl6purtgvwr7vy_aSV7KNnQcANfjCi0Un3Lxfx9SLWacxvHy7W0T-e0Ww7SbvZ3JNmqcVrR6d5fXfiZR_9KCpF_3LCa9UBeU-AcbBnb6vzdPzGzZv7TPa4/s400/Druids.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Most were well wrapped up, some complaining of the cold, so an 88 year old figure in running shorts was causing more attention than I liked. Energised by the sun's magic I made an invigorating run for home. </div>
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Breakfast was a little earlier than usual!</div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-14633744726307284812020-06-18T15:57:00.001+01:002020-06-21T09:31:30.958+01:00Days in the hills....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I gather I'm now officially allowed to travel the 45 miles to visit my wonderful partner instead of sneaking over there a la Dominic Cummings. So I did. Again!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYWJA5hNHTMNQMiOmI9Kye1N0656NavWpRxBstSXZkLYRfsWnN8T1hnYzNn-o1bLjg-BcXdnoFOZjlIpv-IHZOhvdXhBTlkFjBdpqFmFcaqGrWRpGUvkoBk-kh3RfzLiRE2od5oMV_Lk/s1600/Rain.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1155" data-original-width="1600" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYWJA5hNHTMNQMiOmI9Kye1N0656NavWpRxBstSXZkLYRfsWnN8T1hnYzNn-o1bLjg-BcXdnoFOZjlIpv-IHZOhvdXhBTlkFjBdpqFmFcaqGrWRpGUvkoBk-kh3RfzLiRE2od5oMV_Lk/s400/Rain.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out of rain (Click to enlarge)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhodIMmyZnzwtMndodPbaHw3hJ6PRzzxDO9WLprLAcqUuvQn8XB0WcrJzvp4g4JPQrfHFRQgQSbobmt_3PNJW5v8IdCWz1QsHzxvSXrw4CMrYXWIs91x9gTY9QC3ZFmY-WhU-EPbU11Q/s1600/Sun+run.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1600" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhodIMmyZnzwtMndodPbaHw3hJ6PRzzxDO9WLprLAcqUuvQn8XB0WcrJzvp4g4JPQrfHFRQgQSbobmt_3PNJW5v8IdCWz1QsHzxvSXrw4CMrYXWIs91x9gTY9QC3ZFmY-WhU-EPbU11Q/s400/Sun+run.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Into glorious sunshine </td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
So far, June has been mainly wet so I was lucky to choose a fune weather window to get back into the hills running the country I love with the one I love most.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilUJmG130_V1ui-mexaz4L9hbLFeEDxfbLeaD8NgNHs9UG3qeA5lLy-HMBt0Xj7xeU05FVVVqZQUGIcVgFy-R11f-DBN0Vu_257Q00nWceCW9b9UO7wwGeOfQweiejhm3gJj6MxEhvaYA/s1600/IMG_20200614_123006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="1600" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilUJmG130_V1ui-mexaz4L9hbLFeEDxfbLeaD8NgNHs9UG3qeA5lLy-HMBt0Xj7xeU05FVVVqZQUGIcVgFy-R11f-DBN0Vu_257Q00nWceCW9b9UO7wwGeOfQweiejhm3gJj6MxEhvaYA/s400/IMG_20200614_123006.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I suppose we ran about twelve miles in total - which I reckon is quite enough for a couple with over 160 years between us.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijnpCm7GTtq8xYliPDy8AIsz2UGW0BBRWtIyojMH_NfXIs6Z7pXBiPu3F4E-kMpyaS60XzQ87nEle9UkvqPkhOTP89J8Xt9i1j-unUkeaE9gr7zGhiP22hvPkL_ycIjHchtaESq1HduV8/s1600/BG.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="893" data-original-width="1600" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijnpCm7GTtq8xYliPDy8AIsz2UGW0BBRWtIyojMH_NfXIs6Z7pXBiPu3F4E-kMpyaS60XzQ87nEle9UkvqPkhOTP89J8Xt9i1j-unUkeaE9gr7zGhiP22hvPkL_ycIjHchtaESq1HduV8/s400/BG.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Yorkshire Water decreed we couldn't drive to Grimwith so we'd to park a mile away on the main road, which rather extended our trip.<br />
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But the day was pleasant and we enjoyed every moment, often stopping to stand and stare.<br />
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Then running on , easily, enjoyably...<br />
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Stopping to sniff wild thyme...<br />
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Admire mountain pansies...<br />
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Listen to a wheatear getting cross at us...<br />
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Rest and feel the sun on our bodies...<br />
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Slow down by the lovely lagoon...<br />
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Identify wild orchids...<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKw9NYpcDfrT7gFw-6rTFQWKgF9VROYtVqY1Das63hiBWGxZdYpLLoWMmHTreKETyPz0xqaXh9EhL3ROOyS6kAQsm7QoGM8HR9ps-hm2lRvxwJLCdiCHzH6ePsZziLd7StW73P9WNvKTY/s1600/IMG_20200614_121550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="972" data-original-width="1600" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKw9NYpcDfrT7gFw-6rTFQWKgF9VROYtVqY1Das63hiBWGxZdYpLLoWMmHTreKETyPz0xqaXh9EhL3ROOyS6kAQsm7QoGM8HR9ps-hm2lRvxwJLCdiCHzH6ePsZziLd7StW73P9WNvKTY/s400/IMG_20200614_121550.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
Feel the joy of running in the sun...<br />
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Or dancing across rough country ...<br />
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Stopping to drink it all in...<br />
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Then the long trail home...<br />
to a garden of scented flowers, friendly bees,<br />
a blackbird singing in the apple tree,<br />
A glass of wine,<br />
and all's well with the world.</div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-21485576998813603512020-06-03T15:50:00.000+01:002020-06-04T10:36:35.631+01:00A walk on the wild side......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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After watching a live streaming of my friend Peter Dibb's funeral, attended by only six mourners wearing face masks, it was a great relief whrn my wonderful partner whisked me away to the solace of the Yorkshire Dales. There I could effect some sort of closure on a traumatic three weeks. Nature is a great healer.</div>
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Bridge over untroubled waters (Click to enlarge)</div>
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<span id="goog_91012012"></span><span id="goog_91012013"></span>Have we got to go up there?</div>
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Afraid so</div>
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Hebden crag </div>
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We're up and walking towards Mossy Mere</div>
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Mossy Mere. beloved of greylags, curlews, pewits, redshank,</div>
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snipe, skylarks - and me</div>
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Relaxing, listening to the bird's wild chorus</div>
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Looking across to hills I used to run<br />
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When it wont open <br />
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In the dried up land of bog cotton and golden plovers</div>
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Desolation - solitary sheep, a sea of bog cotton and lonely hills</div>
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At the boundary stone twixt Hebden and Grassington Moors </div>
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Time to rest amd drink it all in</div>
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Another rest - at a shooting butt high on the moor </div>
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Hello, what's this flowering in such a wild place?</div>
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Let's have a closer look... </div>
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On the way home</div>
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Walking down Hebden Beck</div>
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Miner's Bridge in Hebden Ghyll<br />
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Home and relaxed<br />
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That deserves a glass of wine - or two.</div>
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The end of a perfect day</div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-451109022873120702020-05-21T15:16:00.000+01:002020-05-22T14:57:05.770+01:00Still plodding on......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Since the sad demise of my good friend, Peter Dibb, the world is an emptier place. He was a big part of my running life for 30 years. We'd travelled hundreds of miles together to train and race. He'd visit me each Thursday for a cup of tea and a chat about all things running After his stroke and a spell in hospital he'd phone regularly with updates on his health and to ask what I was doing. He left an awful big hole which can never be filled.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Runningfox - plodding on (Click to enlarge)</td></tr>
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Many of our contemporaries we raced, ran and bantered with have also died or fallen by the wayside. A tiny handful are still active, albeit very slowly. Surprisingly, I'm one of them. <br />
It's not hard getting out of bed when mornings are so light, though sunrise is a little too early for me now.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frost</td></tr>
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The weather changed remarkably in a fortnight. One morning I was muffled up running through fields thick with frost. In yesterday's morning temperature I was happy in shorts and a thin top, and the wee foal I passed was too comfortable to get up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jc5H1Sq74sYO7RQ2-6Li2kJ9LbXrizswjhaUgKVVcUqe4HlktYzQX07zwt_zNiWksJ4r_ZLCLgcAVTB-PvtzfLlStdIpaddniEq_TiCfcnHyGknWKbC7aZhdieL2R5iOI7XxHkg9bOc/s1600/Horse+%2526+foal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1039" data-original-width="1600" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jc5H1Sq74sYO7RQ2-6Li2kJ9LbXrizswjhaUgKVVcUqe4HlktYzQX07zwt_zNiWksJ4r_ZLCLgcAVTB-PvtzfLlStdIpaddniEq_TiCfcnHyGknWKbC7aZhdieL2R5iOI7XxHkg9bOc/s400/Horse+%2526+foal.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horse & foal</td></tr>
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May blossom is is at its best just now and its smell can be a little over powering on narrow lanes. Two houses on Castle Hill Side are surrounded by it together with rampant gorse and wild crab apple blossom.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK05iWOsvHFZPcMJsq4r2nXnItgCo8UQCeWvpr8dnE34SY5d9Zj3Kg-zLE17B-f7Ooe4YPn2bLZynicco-tWVpKFLNoWNHhBo3EOAlNyPP3km_T6VwBqQ8gJg2bIV7asyy5gaj90r1nqE/s1600/Castle+Hill+%2526+blossom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="693" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK05iWOsvHFZPcMJsq4r2nXnItgCo8UQCeWvpr8dnE34SY5d9Zj3Kg-zLE17B-f7Ooe4YPn2bLZynicco-tWVpKFLNoWNHhBo3EOAlNyPP3km_T6VwBqQ8gJg2bIV7asyy5gaj90r1nqE/s400/Castle+Hill+%2526+blossom.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Castle Hill Side</td></tr>
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There are so many things to see, smell and listen to - and photograph - it's a wonder I manage to do any running at all!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZI0NmkJfrkkUrlHfALftmqYQN-dpoxViRPOMJE_Mvqnsty70NP9TqK07lD5TdP0Jd9mNQzBNWMhbibb8FFy91IizkvpVG-hscjgQbzCwNtFD77xKHQmAeETMyIolRypZ2gZc771LWBSw/s1600/Me+at+Clough+Hall+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1007" data-original-width="975" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZI0NmkJfrkkUrlHfALftmqYQN-dpoxViRPOMJE_Mvqnsty70NP9TqK07lD5TdP0Jd9mNQzBNWMhbibb8FFy91IizkvpVG-hscjgQbzCwNtFD77xKHQmAeETMyIolRypZ2gZc771LWBSw/s400/Me+at+Clough+Hall+%25282%2529.JPG" width="386" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still plodding on.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But it's nice to take it easy in my dotage, long may it continue. Not that I aren't thinking about the after life. <br />
Ewan MacColl's lovely song<span style="color: red;"> <a href="http://gestsongs.com/10/joyofliving.htm"><span style="color: red;">'The Joy of Living'</span></a> </span>has been buzzing around my head a little too often lately. It's worth a listen even if you aren't ready to have your ashes scattered just yet...</div>
</div>
oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-69959391612150599272020-05-11T15:13:00.000+01:002020-06-03T10:48:54.986+01:00 Peter Dibb (1933 - 2020)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
An appreciation of a great athlete and mentor who went missing on VE day and was subsequently found the following day in a wood near Honley where he'd apparently suffered a fatal heart attack. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUu7dcD8d8GX9UxCfNbqKTlj4ZzKQGCY-LXnJHs6jKljkwUluYaB1vmGjBGAWMBtE_ZcpdYr2hW_ZlS5ouqWakEN3TGF7lFuL_Cqp9fnTTotp2OmCDRX6iy_AItidOK8xtmqF9pzxWbQU/s1600/Peter.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="707" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUu7dcD8d8GX9UxCfNbqKTlj4ZzKQGCY-LXnJHs6jKljkwUluYaB1vmGjBGAWMBtE_ZcpdYr2hW_ZlS5ouqWakEN3TGF7lFuL_Cqp9fnTTotp2OmCDRX6iy_AItidOK8xtmqF9pzxWbQU/s400/Peter.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peter Dibb R.I.P <br />
(photo courtesy of the Huddersfield Examiner)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><b> </b></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en"><b>Peter
raced into my life in June '88 when, as a mere amatuer, I was running
the Examiner 10 mile </b></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en"><b>road
</b></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en"><b>race in Huddersfield.
At numerous points along the way there were shouts of 'Come on Dibby'
and it was obvious that whoever Dibby was, he was just behind me.
Crossing the Finish line I turned to see a tall figure smiling down
at me and offering a cheery 'well done'. It was Peter Dibb.</b></span></span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>An
unassuming character, it was some time before I became aware of his
cricketting and hockey prowess for he was an all round athlete who
excelled in various disciplines. Being of roughly the same age, he
became an immediate friend who steered and advised me in various
aspects of road racing and track etiquette. He'd been racing since
school days whereas at the age of 55 I was just beginning.</b></span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>He
was a member of Longwood Harriers and eventually persuaded me to join
too. Down at their track on Leeds Road I'd watch him doing repeat
miles, long striding and stylish. Poetry in motion. A joy to
watch. He'd usually do 4 repeats, all of them at 6 minutes
each, which was pretty nifty for someone approaching 60.</b></span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Later
, he introduced me to the Northern Veterans Athletic Club. Each
Wednesday we'd drive over to Lancashire to train with various members
in runs round Hollingworth Lake, Barrowford, Haigh Hall or Pendle
Hill. We were in stellar company - Arthur Walsham who'd won
multiple World Veteran titles at 25K and a 2hrs 21 min marathon
runner, Jack Betney who'd run the Pennine way, Maurice Morrell, an
Olympic javelin thrower and a winning 10,000 metre runner, Alan
Heaton who'd held the record for the Bob Graham Round and various other top class runners - so we had to
be on our toes. Besides being a formidable group to train with they
were all wonderful people whom I was greatly privileged to meet. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Thanks to Peter.</b></span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>He
took me to prestigious venues, Don Valley stadium, Dorothy Hyman
stadium at Cudworth, Stanley Park, Blackpool and joined me at
Alexander stadium in Manchester where we tingled with excitement
walking into dressing rooms that had been graced by famous athletes
from around the world. Such places inspired one to run faster,
brought out the best in us. There I had my greatest achievements. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Thanks to Peter</b></span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>He
was exceedingly versatile. At Track and Field meetings he'd often go
through the card running all the races with the high jump, discus,
javelin or shot putt thrown in for good measure. </b></span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> An incredible character and a true gentleman.
I was lucky to have such an amazing friend and mentor. He inspired, coaxed
and encouraged me to 'become more than I could be'.</b></span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Rest
in peace Peter. You will never be forgotten.</b></span></span></div>
<br /></div>
oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-75068325868761922682020-04-30T12:07:00.000+01:002020-07-02T09:01:04.266+01:00A new route......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center">
While out running the other morning I noticed a new path had been opened up where none existed before. It appeared to have been an animal trail, fox or badger, but fencing had been removed and made accessible to homo sapiens . It appeared well worn.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47pfXN0r8ROS3VXmNGJa_sSV1D18Z7ofBhKwMmvC8WRv4sAcF0IymOrEUHrj-FAT_9WVWGQw1ZfeRHUpiUb8eGfnfE-5FcSbqJsNOa-T6eONRQ7GQf6P3XkvGxJxZj30H9QO55zX9JcA/s1600/IMG_20200427_160408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47pfXN0r8ROS3VXmNGJa_sSV1D18Z7ofBhKwMmvC8WRv4sAcF0IymOrEUHrj-FAT_9WVWGQw1ZfeRHUpiUb8eGfnfE-5FcSbqJsNOa-T6eONRQ7GQf6P3XkvGxJxZj30H9QO55zX9JcA/s400/IMG_20200427_160408.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start of new path (Click to enlarge)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="center">
On a sunny afternoon I set out to investigate for having lived, walked and run around the area for 42 years, I thought I knew every path for miles around. It began about ¾ mile from home through a pair of ivy covered stumps and followed a leafy hedge into Mellor Wood where I expected it to end. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsTYsXc_ZJQlhcZ-rbi6vm1C1d7A_amp1YaAJCxgBL17etZ7n0myOVltfErPCRf1Wc2GjVIqXD4C2NABfzFlf3YHq-aWyQ8DjkyOLeGMI0B0PqdaVN21JZ7AjbZ4Z0_cBYrSepvcmXn2Y/s1600/IMG_20200427_155239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsTYsXc_ZJQlhcZ-rbi6vm1C1d7A_amp1YaAJCxgBL17etZ7n0myOVltfErPCRf1Wc2GjVIqXD4C2NABfzFlf3YHq-aWyQ8DjkyOLeGMI0B0PqdaVN21JZ7AjbZ4Z0_cBYrSepvcmXn2Y/s400/IMG_20200427_155239.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A blue haze</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But it continued on its merry way through ancient trees where blackbirds and chaffinches sang and a woodpecker was giving itself a headaches hammering at something in the distance.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Gary, an old friend of mine I've run hundreds of miles with but now living in Kiwi country, regards this wood as one of the most beautiful places on earth, mainly on account of its dense carpet of bluebells in Spring. They aren't quite at their best yet.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-9fz0e76t3uFGY5E46IQ3KLgGC1a2GXuOIRZ34h73ueW097P_T5It9rdF_bDDC2fWxWfWk8r9u_3In2OreXQEW431zXipqMjWyLzTXAjnOFun8a8NKmEzf1JDWogfoSZXxLZ6G5tyFk4/s1600/IMG_20200427_160142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-9fz0e76t3uFGY5E46IQ3KLgGC1a2GXuOIRZ34h73ueW097P_T5It9rdF_bDDC2fWxWfWk8r9u_3In2OreXQEW431zXipqMjWyLzTXAjnOFun8a8NKmEzf1JDWogfoSZXxLZ6G5tyFk4/s400/IMG_20200427_160142.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That steep uphill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The path led out into a steep, open field where on sunny evenings my lurcher often had fun chasing a playful hare that would sit up and wait for Meg to catch up before racing her uphill at great speed. The hare always won.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5O2UnmZ-B_Q4g5CWvBgYGodPpQsFV2lqYtBo-DVbFUe1Me5yFgcNkXaxZboIeNWjBxHPGKV-D3UEno4w6PHI1nZYAMccZbXUSdjH0z_ik1wKAh6_E0mifyWR3WIXsoElDG0Z47b0U3A/s1600/IMG_20200427_161027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5O2UnmZ-B_Q4g5CWvBgYGodPpQsFV2lqYtBo-DVbFUe1Me5yFgcNkXaxZboIeNWjBxHPGKV-D3UEno4w6PHI1nZYAMccZbXUSdjH0z_ik1wKAh6_E0mifyWR3WIXsoElDG0Z47b0U3A/s400/IMG_20200427_161027.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do not disturb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I could understand why as I huffed and puffed back to Clough Hall where an acquaintance had just kicked off his boots and settled into a pair of hammock type seats.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjW82NMcE2HGISusJJH1S_DudrC0D7UBNK4HbX6DQuRAtDk7POEZELXzWgKb29eh_Re0A8bC1HU5cPUESFojQMD537JPvfIZPLUEusV-fSdzkJu2xGGb-1WPTKbiNhhyStVe4pMP0Gz0/s1600/horse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="850" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjW82NMcE2HGISusJJH1S_DudrC0D7UBNK4HbX6DQuRAtDk7POEZELXzWgKb29eh_Re0A8bC1HU5cPUESFojQMD537JPvfIZPLUEusV-fSdzkJu2xGGb-1WPTKbiNhhyStVe4pMP0Gz0/s400/horse.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fancy a run?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A thundering behind me as I crossed another field was one of the horses I run past in the early mornings. I think it recognized me and came to say hello.<br />
It stayed two metres away.. </div>
<div align="center">
</div>
</div>
oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-4398739636714516812020-04-22T14:48:00.001+01:002020-04-22T17:19:11.530+01:00Once a runner...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
When my mobile rang and a voice said I was due for another eye injection in a few days time my heart sank. I knew the appointment was due, and I needed it, but I really didn't want to go anywhere near a hospital in the present climate. Reluctantly I said "OK, but I hope the waiting room isn't as crowded as on past visits" I was assured that appointments were being well spaced out and there'd be plenty of room for patients to stay well apart.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgYBN2xcpztz-h8AQcnEf4vysChtzrvXU-qAjl4l8oVWGxJlTBVwTjvDodeQvbiXN91tA2-bmFJhbJNHo-SHojjbLZ2JBajPjG05GQqbHYEZFk3FJU0Vj7pbfpc2vCstKhkMoeR6fDTHo/s1600/Empty+waiting+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgYBN2xcpztz-h8AQcnEf4vysChtzrvXU-qAjl4l8oVWGxJlTBVwTjvDodeQvbiXN91tA2-bmFJhbJNHo-SHojjbLZ2JBajPjG05GQqbHYEZFk3FJU0Vj7pbfpc2vCstKhkMoeR6fDTHo/s400/Empty+waiting+room.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empty waiting room and chairs well spaced (Click to enlarge)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: center;">The driver of the small ambulance was completely partitioned off from anyone in the rear. I was given a face mask and told to sit at the back. On arrival at the hospital the waiting room was completely empty, not even a receptionist. In no time at all my name was called and I was led to an ante room for dilating drops before entering the theatre. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqHeThzXoK_x2AISnJIJDFH1O9y1Q5BQkk8-zOALF6SCJf28vfHdaR777pl04FzzjmirHS-rfqUQ0UO8J_ZA7HRliAxOf348GHrdvRh4k9cc7FzKfcyDeoWHilwaPeOFD_diwBwYpkNo/s1600/Masked+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1311" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqHeThzXoK_x2AISnJIJDFH1O9y1Q5BQkk8-zOALF6SCJf28vfHdaR777pl04FzzjmirHS-rfqUQ0UO8J_ZA7HRliAxOf348GHrdvRh4k9cc7FzKfcyDeoWHilwaPeOFD_diwBwYpkNo/s400/Masked+man.jpg" width="327" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't be frightened, I wont harm you..</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span>A cheerful nurse wanted to know if it was still cold outside. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: center;">"Not as cold as it was at 5 o'clock this morning" I replied. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: center;">I think she knew exactly what I meant, that I'm a crazy runner!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: center;">A doctor I only know as Ross administered the injection quickly and efficiently and in less than an hour I was back home again, half blind and wearing a mask under my dark glasses.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcwXQjUmxf1xXxkgwwT8eibZpk8vX1dDGCHV6I3ufhmvcGI1pcCIkY3PytbinnFrY0hyk1zfjbnJK_tFWuziv_wyMhdbRe1oDJY4xJVPbVQXXDthTFrSY0ykOX3qJBjrDyR31iICimFs/s1600/Sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="953" data-original-width="1600" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcwXQjUmxf1xXxkgwwT8eibZpk8vX1dDGCHV6I3ufhmvcGI1pcCIkY3PytbinnFrY0hyk1zfjbnJK_tFWuziv_wyMhdbRe1oDJY4xJVPbVQXXDthTFrSY0ykOX3qJBjrDyR31iICimFs/s400/Sunrise.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sun was up at 5.50</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: center;">Next day was a rest day, waiting for my eyes to re-focus so that I didn't go stumbling all over the place. It was followed by a clear night with Venus beaming through my bedroom window, assuring me next morning would be beautiful. She was right...</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: center;">I got up, had a strong coffee and set out to greet the sun. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2wKNglXDlmOrLbtQzdVQfWwF0FlzJKmCE874ODQLhbkAu54Hf4jBBe7W_577iqv8H4TyGRjwGf2gturUbDmn5aVrXbU-0Vg-GzMpuYAkUD39e778y3ZP9Fbh3Aue3FCWJZsZe9UPuso/s1600/Castle+Gorse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1094" data-original-width="1600" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2wKNglXDlmOrLbtQzdVQfWwF0FlzJKmCE874ODQLhbkAu54Hf4jBBe7W_577iqv8H4TyGRjwGf2gturUbDmn5aVrXbU-0Vg-GzMpuYAkUD39e778y3ZP9Fbh3Aue3FCWJZsZe9UPuso/s400/Castle+Gorse.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorse at its best and an empty road</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span>Jen, the girl I usually meet, was on her way down. She's only a walker but according to her Fitbit had covered 7.8 miles a couple of days before. I told her in just over a week, when I reach the tender age of 88, I might become a walker too.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjBoLDghDCHAxc6sTIiHFaWEmk-5Q9OwuhX-dtZ6VsQWshN5XUbK-yPiwjDLiSTzwb5t5qnWjiSLjuw3_7r7s6gA8QA2FmQ4VUfzmTQYtAnBRXuJaao9gqGHqhSa1nUfy-9S0MRX0RNs/s1600/Sunlit+beacon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1600" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjBoLDghDCHAxc6sTIiHFaWEmk-5Q9OwuhX-dtZ6VsQWshN5XUbK-yPiwjDLiSTzwb5t5qnWjiSLjuw3_7r7s6gA8QA2FmQ4VUfzmTQYtAnBRXuJaao9gqGHqhSa1nUfy-9S0MRX0RNs/s400/Sunlit+beacon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view to savour before going home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I continued through flowering gorse to the top of the hill for another great angle on the sunrise.<br />
How can I ever stop running?</div>
</div>
oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-28631759930879234662020-04-09T13:14:00.000+01:002020-05-22T15:00:13.006+01:00Where no virus lurks...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
I've been trying to get out for a dawn run every other day but sunrise is getting a bit too early for me now. This morning for instance it was peeping over the horizon at 6.20 am which meant I had to be out of bed by 5.30 to have a reviving coffee before setting off to my usual viewpoint.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtS9_DFq7m8sjRWiYKaz7hHuqNdHDOxTW2Z8CsfdkjXkFpTbXAP6EQy10Lg5yTRi4egmHeRYYcPuLnq6AxH7_1bSHtVxHKzn5tUdlk98F84eOKAOI8-35udItCOmzOulJcQM_Q6GY5WUw/s1600/Sun+rising.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="884" data-original-width="1600" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtS9_DFq7m8sjRWiYKaz7hHuqNdHDOxTW2Z8CsfdkjXkFpTbXAP6EQy10Lg5yTRi4egmHeRYYcPuLnq6AxH7_1bSHtVxHKzn5tUdlk98F84eOKAOI8-35udItCOmzOulJcQM_Q6GY5WUw/s400/Sun+rising.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favourite time of day - Sunrise ( click to enlarge)</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
It was hardly daylight as I set out through fields crunchy with frost and a full moon setting before me to the West. Birds were beginning to sing. A string of horses resting by the hedge took no notice as I ran by. Not even a blink.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikfV26UrhzhgGDwXGPSl_N_-etznYC7FoBo3eBR5QMo2SB_E379dGkrk6vzctxEQC8oLL-pj1SsM5p5qGcvJ7R_KrFNwbfqzSadcV9x7LJJxwUMW74-5RNbyMt8XzhSalz4Cr3KvjmIOg/s1600/Frozen+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1012" data-original-width="1600" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikfV26UrhzhgGDwXGPSl_N_-etznYC7FoBo3eBR5QMo2SB_E379dGkrk6vzctxEQC8oLL-pj1SsM5p5qGcvJ7R_KrFNwbfqzSadcV9x7LJJxwUMW74-5RNbyMt8XzhSalz4Cr3KvjmIOg/s400/Frozen+car.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frozen car at Clough Hall</td></tr>
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A girl I've seen twice before was on her way down as I plodded up, so goodness knows what time she got up. A group of three people were sitting on the grass at the top. Don't ask!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FoOIrpjFN5F5PTuhizhdvVARe8LeEJFOlcbcAPjrGtybupXrBb2_46z6Fj1xk0iJrfyApvBtqUHspt5mInjapa_NdyKWAU5pdQmF5Qp1j4Mj_Kqwk7s3POPdGMWok-c-MHJVGQ-rcrk/s1600/Beacon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1537" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FoOIrpjFN5F5PTuhizhdvVARe8LeEJFOlcbcAPjrGtybupXrBb2_46z6Fj1xk0iJrfyApvBtqUHspt5mInjapa_NdyKWAU5pdQmF5Qp1j4Mj_Kqwk7s3POPdGMWok-c-MHJVGQ-rcrk/s400/Beacon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beacon of hope</td></tr>
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And of course the usual dog walkers had driven up. I say dog walkers but they stroll round the hill while their two unruly dogs charge all over hunting for rabbits. And attacking me. Which is why I took a couple of quick shots of the sunrise, then scarpered! I was home before 7 o'clock. It clouded over and I never saw the sun again..<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mRUKuEHNjcI0R7DBsTeu1XtitnTbje2FvewpPAVBN_UFZg47hyphenhyphenWvovHAxV8IlxYMGaCkvFNi2_MpNsW3vmdz-p08MtFMk0bfazj_hhomCw91LbP8EI29E2TYkCGzPPWLwjrbmADmsBk/s1600/IMG_5314+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="685" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mRUKuEHNjcI0R7DBsTeu1XtitnTbje2FvewpPAVBN_UFZg47hyphenhyphenWvovHAxV8IlxYMGaCkvFNi2_MpNsW3vmdz-p08MtFMk0bfazj_hhomCw91LbP8EI29E2TYkCGzPPWLwjrbmADmsBk/s320/IMG_5314+%25283%2529.JPG" width="304" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That shirt</td></tr>
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I've included this shirt photograph because the printing is very apt in the present climate, and I thought it looked better worn than hung over a chair!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihf0kqRrGO2bgGUcu9_ByEpEJaCd4BFdM-OnFWivF3TcLHA2jXhfqzdRMv6n-4SzAXPE0eUvKwRA8EltYd71eemafZvmScofXUfw-16ihBh1uKTllEz4Nu01p_k4kPSwm_2XTM0saH31c/s1600/IMG_5336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihf0kqRrGO2bgGUcu9_ByEpEJaCd4BFdM-OnFWivF3TcLHA2jXhfqzdRMv6n-4SzAXPE0eUvKwRA8EltYd71eemafZvmScofXUfw-16ihBh1uKTllEz4Nu01p_k4kPSwm_2XTM0saH31c/s400/IMG_5336.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victoria Tower lit up for the NHS</td></tr>
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Each Thursday night at 8 pm we stand by our doors or windows and clap our appreciation of the amazing NHS staff for all the dedicated work they do. The latest session was quite deafening for in addition to clapping folk were banging sauce pans and even letting off fireworks. It was all very emotional. As an added gesture Victoria Tower on Castle Hill was illuminated in pale blue light and a planet shone way above it..<br />
Even the heavens gave thanks<br />
<br /></div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-29160246332029253042020-04-05T13:14:00.001+01:002020-04-05T13:26:24.586+01:00The sun always rises.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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After all the hours spent indoors it was a real joy to get out at sunrise into the cool, clear air. We're officially allowed to go out once each day for exercise but, as an octogenarian, I find every other day is enough. And that depends on the weather!</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNa2i_JntmXf-2s5TcBAqBUYyjDuALyXFRSSdFBQhJfhpJ5Deer6YTy9OCpY24zplB_L2FJGXtuK4JcQYfbJdEMvWo26LAd4B7gNYWrx4EqJ4-L9sTIljHO2JoNGacuLmOAElqIy8ivs/s1600/Sunrise+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="979" data-original-width="1600" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNa2i_JntmXf-2s5TcBAqBUYyjDuALyXFRSSdFBQhJfhpJ5Deer6YTy9OCpY24zplB_L2FJGXtuK4JcQYfbJdEMvWo26LAd4B7gNYWrx4EqJ4-L9sTIljHO2JoNGacuLmOAElqIy8ivs/s400/Sunrise+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful sunrise, worth getting up early for (Click to enlarge)</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: center;">Robins, blackbirds and a pheasant were proclaiming their territorial rights, and I heard a chiff-chaff in the blackthorn. </span>Approaching the top of Castle hill gorse was in full bloom and although the day hadn't yet warmed up I caught a faint whiff of its vanilla scent.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLNXG98eTKlHtJ3lf_xlcX3eFg4cjO-CHYKTqSXIbqg3a6HZh-flSAc26b-k2X5BLy4xMQVY-64XYM0tbNqa-1U9PhcCFTlI3MqO5xe053U8C3yqOsAg-YUPE9JBHISY78ZGDtKhdhjuY/s1600/Gorse+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="966" data-original-width="1600" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLNXG98eTKlHtJ3lf_xlcX3eFg4cjO-CHYKTqSXIbqg3a6HZh-flSAc26b-k2X5BLy4xMQVY-64XYM0tbNqa-1U9PhcCFTlI3MqO5xe053U8C3yqOsAg-YUPE9JBHISY78ZGDtKhdhjuY/s400/Gorse+.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorse in bloom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In spite of it being so early there were people about. A girl out running gave me a smile and a wide berth. A family group were chattering away on Castle Hill and I caught a glimpse of the local poacher, but not his dogs. They must have been hunting.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHF6beI2cet1omYqBzrukTgGm-Q5sSF0l_rhaY2oYXmo_fp2DS0O-bn95HTa9M-KDJzISdajo9n0KlkmSLUgDqlImXObSmJUe7JWxIoE_tBcL7FDHkjAnXWNRpaqQHbtnuPb879Uk1uic/s1600/Tower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1090" data-original-width="1600" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHF6beI2cet1omYqBzrukTgGm-Q5sSF0l_rhaY2oYXmo_fp2DS0O-bn95HTa9M-KDJzISdajo9n0KlkmSLUgDqlImXObSmJUe7JWxIoE_tBcL7FDHkjAnXWNRpaqQHbtnuPb879Uk1uic/s400/Tower.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victoria Tower and beacon, Castle Hill</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
A lone gentleman waved as he passed at a safe distance. Everyone was cheerful for it was one of those mornings that lift the spirits and make it feel good to be alive. I pray for many more mornings like it until this dreadful virus has disappeared. </div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-38562017113609915362020-03-03T12:01:00.000+00:002020-03-17T12:37:11.607+00:00A bridge too far......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center">
Snow was nearly blinding us as we set off from Ilkley past fields rapidly turning white. As we drove farther North it cleared to reveal a flooded landscape with large lakes where none had previously existed, products of Storms Ciara and Dennis. Storm Jorge hadn't yet arrived but was hurtling towards us and would no doubt raise the water level even higher.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2V-lYZCAjlNjSZbmOje4jq_jmMvjnqVGzJ8qt905KPdEFH2iXV2C0s7u91a2_Uy_ro0n3w7p3LxX4_O2PUSj8ib0m-PDglnveRJfcjEk0hyphenhyphentKt9KYtpnimzcNcGHp226ijv3mbS8sO6E/s1600/IMG_20200301_113321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="790" data-original-width="1600" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2V-lYZCAjlNjSZbmOje4jq_jmMvjnqVGzJ8qt905KPdEFH2iXV2C0s7u91a2_Uy_ro0n3w7p3LxX4_O2PUSj8ib0m-PDglnveRJfcjEk0hyphenhyphentKt9KYtpnimzcNcGHp226ijv3mbS8sO6E/s640/IMG_20200301_113321.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lakes where none should be (Click to enlarge)</td></tr>
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<div align="center">
The sun came out briefly as we lunched in the quaint little market town of Settle with its Grade 2 listed Shambles, an arched. picturesque block of six shops and houses I'm told were designed by a bridge builder! That figures!</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkojROZvwXFdH_AbVsZCl97VG98Yey6YfoFGBgU7xNsVfNd9EuB0tNaR-6G7HLjBU5M3Uaw30z0dOAsI0HLfhxpK1w2OlvaZ6MIQH609QGdNrkLLshnCqVmiPpc9a-u-SfAue56OhdjQ/s1600/Shambles.+Settle.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="447" data-original-width="680" height="419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkojROZvwXFdH_AbVsZCl97VG98Yey6YfoFGBgU7xNsVfNd9EuB0tNaR-6G7HLjBU5M3Uaw30z0dOAsI0HLfhxpK1w2OlvaZ6MIQH609QGdNrkLLshnCqVmiPpc9a-u-SfAue56OhdjQ/s640/Shambles.+Settle.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Shambles (picture from Internet)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="center">
When I worked in that area I had friends that dwelt in the Shambles and very cosy it was. With an excellent Fish and Chip shop underneath them, a market square in front and a pub just across the road, I reckon they'd found the ideal place to live!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNMvQV-2gzzN1dsQzuchVs77-G2WQ6vhMIfk8nPqOC0o3R-ccDSTLiJIxGMhmFVslvOkpY4qJ3Ur31ZFOspCWfqRHDzd4kiOkUa2VXDcJFIm1V8Sh5yqJcGAe1cvdxA7kZycU9zult_c/s1600/IMG_20200229_110659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1370" data-original-width="1600" height="547" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNMvQV-2gzzN1dsQzuchVs77-G2WQ6vhMIfk8nPqOC0o3R-ccDSTLiJIxGMhmFVslvOkpY4qJ3Ur31ZFOspCWfqRHDzd4kiOkUa2VXDcJFIm1V8Sh5yqJcGAe1cvdxA7kZycU9zult_c/s640/IMG_20200229_110659.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tourist information</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We motored on through Ingleton, Kirby Lonsdale and Shap until pretty soon we reached our turn-off to Pooley Bridge. At present it could be simply named Pooley for the Bridge bit was washed away by Storm Desmond in 2015. A new all steel bridge is scheduled to be completed in Spring of 2020 but a local shopkeeper reckoned 'not before June'.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AfHeAlLRO4R2GdXMxv-AFxnXPDFE0TGAggwS4jzsLPNJPIzPswyHdPyddTl67H5RZpnjpbgpqTfUpr5zrn2lDBg96umkXDDiLK-fx-Bg-XdfMnDunBYmRB9KCYshFsqqVPkui6k3niw/s1600/IMG_20200229_110547.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="818" data-original-width="1600" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AfHeAlLRO4R2GdXMxv-AFxnXPDFE0TGAggwS4jzsLPNJPIzPswyHdPyddTl67H5RZpnjpbgpqTfUpr5zrn2lDBg96umkXDDiLK-fx-Bg-XdfMnDunBYmRB9KCYshFsqqVPkui6k3niw/s640/IMG_20200229_110547.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parts for the new steel bridge have arrived</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Meanwhile pedestrians can cross the River Eamont by a temporary structure where one can watch ongoing work or gaze pensively down Ullswater. Whichever turns you on!</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKjH_pWG1AG0kKyjeRG1vyrVvVRxwL4RyaxBhXRfF3ewW_JCY7yncD9LvWgtsm6umYRt-B6ZFo9RtDdKFPJWSBYM71vnuzbA9oAQcfgs-B6jHkTgXR6h9aYikyYzNt1Div6d-A91Ujlts/s1600/IMG_20200229_110607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1600" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKjH_pWG1AG0kKyjeRG1vyrVvVRxwL4RyaxBhXRfF3ewW_JCY7yncD9LvWgtsm6umYRt-B6ZFo9RtDdKFPJWSBYM71vnuzbA9oAQcfgs-B6jHkTgXR6h9aYikyYzNt1Div6d-A91Ujlts/s640/IMG_20200229_110607.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking across Ullswater with snow clouds approaching</td></tr>
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We carried on to our destination, a luxury flat midway between Pooley Bridge and Howtown. The lake had obviously burst its banks for there was debris strewn across the road but thankfully it was still passable.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVw8n5m7bnA5k0CzSP9hSVS_h_LhMgkaAKn22OIZp-NN6f6CWSxfM2nHCkSsYpYDZ3RWz-xtodEV1pRywKlazKQVQUfxMpCzivOBzFpFpQ7XpAcTq0ItP2pSyC0RYBx9imH9ZygUrlKM/s1600/IMG_20200229_112522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="1600" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVw8n5m7bnA5k0CzSP9hSVS_h_LhMgkaAKn22OIZp-NN6f6CWSxfM2nHCkSsYpYDZ3RWz-xtodEV1pRywKlazKQVQUfxMpCzivOBzFpFpQ7XpAcTq0ItP2pSyC0RYBx9imH9ZygUrlKM/s640/IMG_20200229_112522.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breach point with debris on the road</td></tr>
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We stopped to take pictures during a brief lull in the weather and were glad we did. From then on it rained and sleeted, snowed and blew a gale. Storm Jorge had arrived.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcnifyX2jQFZxR9NwjopGVVm1vzOaC47KmqM-NaqbD_vY4GlnJASFQQ7Nkg3lrDFQWl0MwPM-NRrmd3m1Uy71l8w-8LXP0UMlYs1tAQDGiDwO_Ho1Gzc16RMz4edTkJSGVoFzBcvkqN-8/s1600/IMG_20200229_112600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="1600" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcnifyX2jQFZxR9NwjopGVVm1vzOaC47KmqM-NaqbD_vY4GlnJASFQQ7Nkg3lrDFQWl0MwPM-NRrmd3m1Uy71l8w-8LXP0UMlYs1tAQDGiDwO_Ho1Gzc16RMz4edTkJSGVoFzBcvkqN-8/s640/IMG_20200229_112600.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow on the tops</td></tr>
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We made a quick visit to Pooley Bridge the following morning for a newspaper, milk and biscuits. Higher Lakeland hills were covered in snow and as we left the shop we too were caught in a freezing flurry that numbed us to the bone.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-yzZX93QEcHibQ39QjhnXvOIx1xg3D4czO1fSSXw1SkLLK9wPwMW29oh6JQ2_SDhsN6DRsell6hl5O7unRaKKizBggekeo1n_OmAlnCPc64GtaqUDM2uzcDggEVZJ1KvVwM3qGYDlzE/s1600/IMG_20200229_112458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="917" data-original-width="1600" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-yzZX93QEcHibQ39QjhnXvOIx1xg3D4czO1fSSXw1SkLLK9wPwMW29oh6JQ2_SDhsN6DRsell6hl5O7unRaKKizBggekeo1n_OmAlnCPc64GtaqUDM2uzcDggEVZJ1KvVwM3qGYDlzE/s640/IMG_20200229_112458.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trees getting their feet wet</td></tr>
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We were glad to scutter back into the car and head to somewhere warm. Not much happened after that. We attempted The I cryptic crossword but Lohengrin's clues were mostly beyond us. We prefer Phi whom we've got used to. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKCl4E5-8lrXM9QyWKsXU90vQSsV-m4InLNUhDkDWM8GlzzUhrxMMeysezIZ1w5f7MmDEb2vIBAX-r6JnJP5pWdNF5xZKYSrOgIsY6ZYxOs5kaZDPvEIw5Q3fW-kmPd1-E73MPKGSX6A/s1600/IMG_20200229_143608.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="941" data-original-width="1600" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKCl4E5-8lrXM9QyWKsXU90vQSsV-m4InLNUhDkDWM8GlzzUhrxMMeysezIZ1w5f7MmDEb2vIBAX-r6JnJP5pWdNF5xZKYSrOgIsY6ZYxOs5kaZDPvEIw5Q3fW-kmPd1-E73MPKGSX6A/s640/IMG_20200229_143608.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeder of seeds and nuts</td></tr>
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We were intrigued by a man screwing something to a tree and scattering stuff around just off our driveway. We waited till he'd gone before going to investigate. We assumed it was a feeder for red squirrels he'd been fixing up, then throwing a few seeds on the ground to attract these charming little creatures that are known to live in the area.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69-g8GrtAcbQkkaJFsef-lpf3xUw5AVQwAIz8W62u235QwTpxo4VbH1qAArSt2h-qOc8zEVKX4SKo2r35KqptSMQKHDzLSacnpA7Ad9GtCiYmj324BI9B3ACzEZwm9xQ4dorVMBSokhI/s1600/Ravencragg+clean-up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1010" data-original-width="1600" height="401" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69-g8GrtAcbQkkaJFsef-lpf3xUw5AVQwAIz8W62u235QwTpxo4VbH1qAArSt2h-qOc8zEVKX4SKo2r35KqptSMQKHDzLSacnpA7Ad9GtCiYmj324BI9B3ACzEZwm9xQ4dorVMBSokhI/s640/Ravencragg+clean-up.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">clean up</td></tr>
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What else did we do? Well, nothing really other than a little clean-up around the property. On Saturday night I was rather ill, nasty cold, trying to cough my lungs up, unable to speak properly, etc...</div>
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"We're going home tomorrow" my wonderful partner declared. </div>
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And we did.</div>
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I can't remember much about it, except the horrendous wind, a huge wagon blown onto its side over Shap Fell, Motorway signs advising 50mph but few drivers taking any notice.....</div>
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It was good to get home.</div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-75258187437731300662020-02-24T21:47:00.000+00:002020-02-26T14:28:43.604+00:00Snowdrops and snow...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We can't rely on the weather forecasts at all. On Saturday we'd incessant rain which continued throughout the night and into Sunday morning. There was a day when I wouldn't have bothered how much it poured. When Munro bagging or marathon training they'd have had to chain me to the wall to keep me in. Last weekend my favourite rocking chair held me in its clutches. <br />
Until Sunday lunchtime. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My all singing/all dancing phone assured us the sluice gates would be closed and we'd have wall to wall sunshine throughout the afternoon. We were daft enough to believe it. At lunchtime we got changed and set off on a run to Linton to view the snowdrops.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3IGUvpe7fZ3PzVv7d7MQjYPwYkgvgQh5Mc_qSxUILzhJRS3557Vp7APU4cMvGTvVGkDq9NcWmcUHP2Ch31GRjgjLWF8uc2zmo72Eh79czYGrxQVpDecLpwe90ruc3K3-p4ZzMrAT64WI/s1600/IMG_20200223_125605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="890" data-original-width="1600" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3IGUvpe7fZ3PzVv7d7MQjYPwYkgvgQh5Mc_qSxUILzhJRS3557Vp7APU4cMvGTvVGkDq9NcWmcUHP2Ch31GRjgjLWF8uc2zmo72Eh79czYGrxQVpDecLpwe90ruc3K3-p4ZzMrAT64WI/s400/IMG_20200223_125605.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue sky lured us out (Click to enlarge pictures)</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
It was nice when we set off but after a few minutes running a glance behind revealed heavy clouds advancing upon us which looked ominously full of snow. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYA78X5bxv-in0kvC8jsRFl6Bt6iqgN9hx_BVaU7XF7T0uZsLdSTp3UEo_ycRhqWuwPpvF2XoGOPsPylvimYh1SxL5vd-MBxQ0xTc7-3MXFHMC7daLGjEh3PJnJ_2imUjSRUfDg0UlYgM/s1600/IMG_20200223_122607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="859" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYA78X5bxv-in0kvC8jsRFl6Bt6iqgN9hx_BVaU7XF7T0uZsLdSTp3UEo_ycRhqWuwPpvF2XoGOPsPylvimYh1SxL5vd-MBxQ0xTc7-3MXFHMC7daLGjEh3PJnJ_2imUjSRUfDg0UlYgM/s400/IMG_20200223_122607.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheep and snow clouds</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
If a herd of sheep over the wall could speak our language they'd probably have warned us we were right. But we carried on.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieAdQD2NHqiWwN59_-UsG6GV2v2kiv6IgzUvCuPCQEk-0Z3t7yWn4MoV7GqYakfBrm3Z3L9ugUxeF9q8vF1l9eXdgOta_EDvdGXm4_KKiI123U34plU1XOHXCq4cuc2bJatgou2jSgWZA/s1600/IMG_20200223_123557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="942" data-original-width="1600" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieAdQD2NHqiWwN59_-UsG6GV2v2kiv6IgzUvCuPCQEk-0Z3t7yWn4MoV7GqYakfBrm3Z3L9ugUxeF9q8vF1l9eXdgOta_EDvdGXm4_KKiI123U34plU1XOHXCq4cuc2bJatgou2jSgWZA/s400/IMG_20200223_123557.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evasive action in a flooded gateway</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Until then we'd been running on a hard track but things were a little different when we stepped through a gateway into a field. Water and mud were above our shoes at times but we're fell runners so didn't let that bother us.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuOa0Q2FWuLR3Etwzyy95WoeKRavyasj2jpqEccPQcoEDyG1dGxCQ3_Iq-7AOSTzWDD1aPLRZ2cWUMHr5wysxIAvQkd1FD3gRYOWeVlYVEPNKVQ_bsCeG1q9jvXoktyJDvanBzSDIV8A/s1600/IMG_20200223_124703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1045" data-original-width="1600" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuOa0Q2FWuLR3Etwzyy95WoeKRavyasj2jpqEccPQcoEDyG1dGxCQ3_Iq-7AOSTzWDD1aPLRZ2cWUMHr5wysxIAvQkd1FD3gRYOWeVlYVEPNKVQ_bsCeG1q9jvXoktyJDvanBzSDIV8A/s400/IMG_20200223_124703.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What we'd come to see - snowdrops under the dripping trees</td></tr>
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After a mile of saturated fields we passed through a tunnel into a tree lined lane full of glutinous mud that was impossible to avoid. To add to our discomfort, water was dripping from the trees, as it was when we reached our destination. </div>
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The snowdrop garden.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_5nubHhqT3cgZlseIHsNM_cDI4bpk8RthXQ_Jsqr9n15HCZ6hV2oaLdeipmdwK8sYDzFspndqahsEguFlNjKHwVn1PnBFjF3VQtoMly7SjMTo6LDeJBfTrzMOOum75uUpu9rfN9jKGA/s1600/IMG_5203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="994" data-original-width="1600" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_5nubHhqT3cgZlseIHsNM_cDI4bpk8RthXQ_Jsqr9n15HCZ6hV2oaLdeipmdwK8sYDzFspndqahsEguFlNjKHwVn1PnBFjF3VQtoMly7SjMTo6LDeJBfTrzMOOum75uUpu9rfN9jKGA/s400/IMG_5203.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A last glance as it began to snow.</td></tr>
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Flowers weren't quite at their best and we maybe should have waited another week. What's more, as we stood admiring them, it began to snow. My all singing phone had got it wrong again. <br />
Or the Met Office did.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTMnBiT5GUKYoAKmTrulqQARCM8euZQZwp0TrqKZMJRhESvbkcL2gVtBXI-S3Q1Kqb3ubsp-v8_v2K-n2fv7iKeB2YOiIPId0LGQWOb0lv5B6axRKMsIvRaKLdxvuV0qSrxvaAtOR9bw/s1600/IMG_20200223_124821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1045" data-original-width="1600" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTMnBiT5GUKYoAKmTrulqQARCM8euZQZwp0TrqKZMJRhESvbkcL2gVtBXI-S3Q1Kqb3ubsp-v8_v2K-n2fv7iKeB2YOiIPId0LGQWOb0lv5B6axRKMsIvRaKLdxvuV0qSrxvaAtOR9bw/s400/IMG_20200223_124821.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The weather turns nasty as we beat a retreat from Linton</td></tr>
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We beat a hasty retreat from Linton with snow stinging uncovered flesh, mainly our ears, and I wished I was wearing the woolly hat I'd left on the table.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz73VUWiX3lAmlmUK1O5DxSwRdyhm68VQxPfQ7SytCQO1iNhCf7ACssk5eXGQgujifkkKdt5aiqbDbI-MUi6kAMX3vqfWvTJ1ltdQIGnOA0-2PFN1Pgu-O2GankrodYGk5vQoHhDaBct8/s1600/IMG_20200223_122243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz73VUWiX3lAmlmUK1O5DxSwRdyhm68VQxPfQ7SytCQO1iNhCf7ACssk5eXGQgujifkkKdt5aiqbDbI-MUi6kAMX3vqfWvTJ1ltdQIGnOA0-2PFN1Pgu-O2GankrodYGk5vQoHhDaBct8/s400/IMG_20200223_122243.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just water under the bridge</td></tr>
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<div align="center">
From hereon it was all road and tracks but the snow was blowing directly into our faces. My wonderful partner forged ahead whilst I followed in her fleeting footsteps. Remarkably, as we headed down to Linton Falls, snow stopped abruptly and bits of blue sky began to force the clouds apart.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdxwz4MxsEDPSA2mKg1CQlzJbFOosHU3Gjx8OnMnix3Vr9ojiEsILST1v-l6oO95AeNEYgGcrqsUg6q5974WFzMb2vJ2cC7fYn3yvJI7u-ZselRJN5DBWdVWXywFSPq2DgjJy6p3H4qR4/s1600/IMG_20200223_122048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="925" data-original-width="1600" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdxwz4MxsEDPSA2mKg1CQlzJbFOosHU3Gjx8OnMnix3Vr9ojiEsILST1v-l6oO95AeNEYgGcrqsUg6q5974WFzMb2vJ2cC7fYn3yvJI7u-ZselRJN5DBWdVWXywFSPq2DgjJy6p3H4qR4/s400/IMG_20200223_122048.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White water at Linton Falls</td></tr>
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We stopped on the bridge, deafened by the roaring torrent that flowed beneath us, and gazed in wonder at the whirling mass as it sped towards the sea.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOc9A3SY0B7VrNqjX9gD-5Ds3zFP5wuFSFKHs_V9ry24ESreAJyb7YldKLMa46WUjpy9TbbgrkKAK7BI0KZxFqZTB0GYlInj6DpzmQBSl1Pv_L2cZW3fw4M-HS0tbAQnW74W4_slOmnno/s1600/IMG_20200223_125535.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOc9A3SY0B7VrNqjX9gD-5Ds3zFP5wuFSFKHs_V9ry24ESreAJyb7YldKLMa46WUjpy9TbbgrkKAK7BI0KZxFqZTB0GYlInj6DpzmQBSl1Pv_L2cZW3fw4M-HS0tbAQnW74W4_slOmnno/s400/IMG_20200223_125535.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whiter water under a clearing sky!</td></tr>
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<div align="center">
As we ran the last half mile to the car park, the sky cleared and we could feel a little warmth in the sun again. But it felt lovely to get home and step into a warm kitchen. As we lie in bed on Sunday night it seemed wonderfully quiet compared to the hammering of rain on our bedroom window the previous night. We slept in peace, blissfully unaware of what was happening beyond the curtains until, at 7.30 am, we awoke to find...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCeWVOi2TjpAANlIj1SWhy1zEui4jqD5qohhX20UN6VOTQAmiMjTBhRhnyt7qCdIctn3wx6LMpdLSVO6vr33PPllsZnR8sY_7hG86vjVf8BCNhoLlgIvLAdZhgpnDMDmsikY72qJhyXWU/s1600/IMG_20200224_081017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCeWVOi2TjpAANlIj1SWhy1zEui4jqD5qohhX20UN6VOTQAmiMjTBhRhnyt7qCdIctn3wx6LMpdLSVO6vr33PPllsZnR8sY_7hG86vjVf8BCNhoLlgIvLAdZhgpnDMDmsikY72qJhyXWU/s400/IMG_20200224_081017.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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that slowly, silently and surreptitiously, <br />
snow had arrived.</div>
<img height="56" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieAdQD2NHqiWwN59_-UsG6GV2v2kiv6IgzUvCuPCQEk-0Z3t7yWn4MoV7GqYakfBrm3Z3L9ugUxeF9q8vF1l9eXdgOta_EDvdGXm4_KKiI123U34plU1XOHXCq4cuc2bJatgou2jSgWZA/s400/IMG_20200223_123557.jpg" style="left: 372px; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 774px;" width="96" /></div>
oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-34475660254079699252020-01-27T21:12:00.000+00:002020-02-13T20:13:04.448+00:00A little further....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My plan for last Sunday was to run a little further, to get strength back into my legs, but we'd been celebrating Burn's Night so things got a bit out of hand. A horrible pain in my nether regions caused something of a delay at the start of our six mile jaunt to Appletreewick but after a brief stop we were soon on our way. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD7sb-gph6xCal6FmcXNjH7uHasfrZapYM81FSDhcKWMVdWUHzlh8-6kp3zybvLWJVk48zaluV6CNkU7hEHkOnxPiQk1NN9ALQGMymXTSTwrZ9OxsNaBI7F8qjKhaO0gGBJ1zj1KukceQ/s1600/IMG_20200126_092813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="990" data-original-width="1600" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD7sb-gph6xCal6FmcXNjH7uHasfrZapYM81FSDhcKWMVdWUHzlh8-6kp3zybvLWJVk48zaluV6CNkU7hEHkOnxPiQk1NN9ALQGMymXTSTwrZ9OxsNaBI7F8qjKhaO0gGBJ1zj1KukceQ/s400/IMG_20200126_092813.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well wrapped up against a cold wind by Hebden Suspension Bridge. <br />
(Click to enlarge)</td></tr>
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It's nearly six months since we ran this route and I was really looking forward to running the riverbank again. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-otchv2MrGx8BT7cSUq5iE6DSbEaJ30XbJaAqmKuBMpNyZ0gHB4JZ_BJvwxMLksQHpVc1o7DpwDzoDCNOTph24vJaKvR9MVyzH1uXR_o5OEsPT0gyadjLKOU-2I46TdMjUSqUt-ICxPk/s1600/IMG_20200126_080809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1091" data-original-width="1600" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-otchv2MrGx8BT7cSUq5iE6DSbEaJ30XbJaAqmKuBMpNyZ0gHB4JZ_BJvwxMLksQHpVc1o7DpwDzoDCNOTph24vJaKvR9MVyzH1uXR_o5OEsPT0gyadjLKOU-2I46TdMjUSqUt-ICxPk/s400/IMG_20200126_080809.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">River Wharfe near Loup Scar</td></tr>
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A dipper bobbed around on a stone at Loup Scar but by the time I got the camera out, it had gone,</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzk6IN8PdfN9ccx3YrSq-w0Lr9gwh3kOmKvZ8Y3HuUvEdI1HSaNub4TubdfXeywKjXCXAs-R537yML9iDkLlv0YId8sKHcZMXwrofJOI13A8VzW8r1BFMFOGg2CKpOr9kjSOBho6GLNk/s1600/IMG_20200126_082141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1011" data-original-width="1600" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzk6IN8PdfN9ccx3YrSq-w0Lr9gwh3kOmKvZ8Y3HuUvEdI1HSaNub4TubdfXeywKjXCXAs-R537yML9iDkLlv0YId8sKHcZMXwrofJOI13A8VzW8r1BFMFOGg2CKpOr9kjSOBho6GLNk/s400/IMG_20200126_082141.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passing the Red Lion at Burnsall Bridge</td></tr>
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It was early morning and I can only remember passing four people and none of them had dogs. Quite an unusual occurrence!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0jeG04z8wS1ZRg8rEjoWs5fUjn63SHB2GJfaZUVskq9-bEMWDAClJ_hID8r-xDxHjMdugW4bL92AgWpvDSpldNvQFPSc-TSbXSdTAstrKDE8Jg1sorhT7Xn5mA_gYglqEoAOsH_ngcw/s1600/IMG_5171-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0jeG04z8wS1ZRg8rEjoWs5fUjn63SHB2GJfaZUVskq9-bEMWDAClJ_hID8r-xDxHjMdugW4bL92AgWpvDSpldNvQFPSc-TSbXSdTAstrKDE8Jg1sorhT7Xn5mA_gYglqEoAOsH_ngcw/s400/IMG_5171-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the bridge at Woodhouse Farm</td></tr>
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We pressed on, following the river past the Red Lion in Burnsall (it was shut, not that I'm ever allowed in such places) and through Daggett's car parking field to Woodhouse Farm.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfuZPotUo7fmYk4flhioIXUzAYlEGXwi14Iy02GQ0mTiYCkTVS6Wp6HbiEHbP6Zm4rY51UIWZfAp3HA37ysU4gGvp4FmDFG4ueMO0wwaewtnVFi3TtDyLZYgyxSS0p1JDXZOAkxxHI3U/s1600/IMG_5172-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1048" data-original-width="1600" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfuZPotUo7fmYk4flhioIXUzAYlEGXwi14Iy02GQ0mTiYCkTVS6Wp6HbiEHbP6Zm4rY51UIWZfAp3HA37ysU4gGvp4FmDFG4ueMO0wwaewtnVFi3TtDyLZYgyxSS0p1JDXZOAkxxHI3U/s400/IMG_5172-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running the short road loop</td></tr>
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Here, we normally leave the river for a short loop onto the road, hence the name - the Appletreewick lollipop.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-UPl6i8BCpsZFHLuOLEa4G4SWZCA0OpG9aHVExd2OpJT5Uv5L1OxMW2rD0Pg1I2q7eUY-_1rh8ia7G20SEVUIdRM6JI-QadzvYjnU-xgMmncsMYfgsvw6y1P2MnRcdsADgJuqFkieQY/s1600/IMG_20200126_084619.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1058" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-UPl6i8BCpsZFHLuOLEa4G4SWZCA0OpG9aHVExd2OpJT5Uv5L1OxMW2rD0Pg1I2q7eUY-_1rh8ia7G20SEVUIdRM6JI-QadzvYjnU-xgMmncsMYfgsvw6y1P2MnRcdsADgJuqFkieQY/s400/IMG_20200126_084619.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passing the campsite</td></tr>
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In half a mile or so we cut back to rejoin the river at the campsite.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1jw4LWGXOG45ejNaSMUHkT0MIuNazay_sW43D98j4cKnK14hRWooyTSOUEIAr3A2x6T1iRxZLNTrj9RkD7uQ4qDYTtbP4t8-66FKMXQ6jKdbQ-8CurOh1ArJTb_02oqQXmm4r41wYFIA/s1600/IMG_20200126_085136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1045" data-original-width="1600" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1jw4LWGXOG45ejNaSMUHkT0MIuNazay_sW43D98j4cKnK14hRWooyTSOUEIAr3A2x6T1iRxZLNTrj9RkD7uQ4qDYTtbP4t8-66FKMXQ6jKdbQ-8CurOh1ArJTb_02oqQXmm4r41wYFIA/s400/IMG_20200126_085136.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flat, easy running</td></tr>
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We'd run three miles and were now at the half way mark and turning for home with a cool wind in our faces. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtS21f-8XWVLJuA0ypK7_tnjrDGaULvaupo_hEiQX-3rmq3e1HvEk89RAOM4hMWq_NnFaAIeUp8AzDIou4JxRPAj1Ur0CJ4YEarZn-gm8aLmvAas7QLPRGFKt7nsEW5EtWZReP_Uav32o/s1600/IMG_20200126_085719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtS21f-8XWVLJuA0ypK7_tnjrDGaULvaupo_hEiQX-3rmq3e1HvEk89RAOM4hMWq_NnFaAIeUp8AzDIou4JxRPAj1Ur0CJ4YEarZn-gm8aLmvAas7QLPRGFKt7nsEW5EtWZReP_Uav32o/s400/IMG_20200126_085719.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peering into the River Dibb at Woodhouse Farm</td></tr>
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There were no hills until the last ¼ mile, it was all delightful running, through Burnsall, over the River Dibb that flows into the Wharfe, past Loup Scar again and on to the Suspension Bridge.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqx0Fc7M_1LIYDb62nmYtm4JbMZatshP2kcoBNf2QsZsKAH6866ZKdE9PPKErrDluK3hU2h9dRa3W2y1xJ8ZH4CXw8g_4gY8BMDIXkBOjVjGqaZFwxEPNj90f-aDYcakR_LE6I3KF-OU/s1600/IMG_5187-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1026" data-original-width="1600" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqx0Fc7M_1LIYDb62nmYtm4JbMZatshP2kcoBNf2QsZsKAH6866ZKdE9PPKErrDluK3hU2h9dRa3W2y1xJ8ZH4CXw8g_4gY8BMDIXkBOjVjGqaZFwxEPNj90f-aDYcakR_LE6I3KF-OU/s400/IMG_5187-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passing Loup Scar again</td></tr>
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After another mile we'd got into our stride. Breakfast was calling.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlA2yWVj8I5qh1miRCoQuB1Eq498LidUwJefUvbGh3a2K384G73wHUp8T2_sRNZY29nVehs6TDcI4pTC3l5kynYLZO3uDfVncdi4bs6FoN9opYObFG05QZmtEjXzvsMasUOTN9nm1okzo/s1600/IMG_5188-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1600" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlA2yWVj8I5qh1miRCoQuB1Eq498LidUwJefUvbGh3a2K384G73wHUp8T2_sRNZY29nVehs6TDcI4pTC3l5kynYLZO3uDfVncdi4bs6FoN9opYObFG05QZmtEjXzvsMasUOTN9nm1okzo/s400/IMG_5188-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cormorant drying his wings</td></tr>
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We'd never seen a cormorant on the river before so were surprised to see one perched on a rock mid stream, wings outstretched.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAMB6sBzQ8NnvddL9dwQNcquU3hOMaP0XEE4VfiEKsrMqrlfe7ntMTrapXFU490ib_bNs5m-E97MHlOqKtyqcRYS36TxlbOyLZ2OR6JnS8uhvzFiRDvqJzBJgfxRx89CuzxDut_VXY95c/s1600/IMG_20200126_092357.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="1600" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAMB6sBzQ8NnvddL9dwQNcquU3hOMaP0XEE4VfiEKsrMqrlfe7ntMTrapXFU490ib_bNs5m-E97MHlOqKtyqcRYS36TxlbOyLZ2OR6JnS8uhvzFiRDvqJzBJgfxRx89CuzxDut_VXY95c/s400/IMG_20200126_092357.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Full steam ahead</td></tr>
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We tried to take a decent picture of him but he flew away. We ran on.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDpa6giM9dCvivzpY4iaT0JHjTbEJA1rnhzpRjhFuOT6CW4UZWoSm_HhFCgZK-MY2w9TDBCQKabioRgeMYgUK0k5dZhEXPtMs7qXsj_i9WVJg35Q_6lr0NhigeDQ2W3LEWCXtqUZvTu6Q/s1600/IMG_20200126_092554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDpa6giM9dCvivzpY4iaT0JHjTbEJA1rnhzpRjhFuOT6CW4UZWoSm_HhFCgZK-MY2w9TDBCQKabioRgeMYgUK0k5dZhEXPtMs7qXsj_i9WVJg35Q_6lr0NhigeDQ2W3LEWCXtqUZvTu6Q/s400/IMG_20200126_092554.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Towards the Suspension Bridge seen in the distance</td></tr>
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It's a lovely stretch of river to the Suspension Bridge and we never tire of running this, especially when we have it to ourselves!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwFOTHd1XAoNGN-3RPoKwgtehK3I8bY3-vkrV_TR-IosEd7zp0p8kdQTgvHUF_4myYf3vALiPYXfNlhLVG3CN1gfOFnkDsAqBnb1CUmPl1L0kPnIuP9-M4O8OVZMibNbpowTzAQ_32Cf8/s1600/IMG_20200126_092943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwFOTHd1XAoNGN-3RPoKwgtehK3I8bY3-vkrV_TR-IosEd7zp0p8kdQTgvHUF_4myYf3vALiPYXfNlhLVG3CN1gfOFnkDsAqBnb1CUmPl1L0kPnIuP9-M4O8OVZMibNbpowTzAQ_32Cf8/s400/IMG_20200126_092943.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing the bridge again </td></tr>
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Pretty soon we reached the Suspension Bridge and out onto the tarmac again. It was steep tarmac and shhhh,, never let it be said, we walked up it.... It was only 150 yards or so. Pretty soon we were home enjoying porridge and coffee, crumpets and honey.<br />
Well, I was.....</div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-45373686702165022332020-01-21T23:42:00.000+00:002020-01-28T09:15:06.729+00:00A good weekend...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The forecast was good for our neck of the woods so we were determined to make the most of it. On Saturday we went walking over Hebden Crag, past Mossy Mere and back via Hebden Ghyll.<br />
I needed some hard uphill work and some faster running to get the old body operating as near to optimum as possible. for my age</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hebden beck (click to enlarge)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-wNIeO-roV3ABoBSnQZafV-YcVl-_StTAcnwTXVhjLOl3STHUh8tlaSAACCp51lFu683ada3z96VTBfUgLFYCsNsxfo41W7CGm8E9XXPyff3cshAgQ7Mippt0futVWxR0H-a8Ibq0q8/s1600/IMG_20200118_113423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1166" data-original-width="1600" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-wNIeO-roV3ABoBSnQZafV-YcVl-_StTAcnwTXVhjLOl3STHUh8tlaSAACCp51lFu683ada3z96VTBfUgLFYCsNsxfo41W7CGm8E9XXPyff3cshAgQ7Mippt0futVWxR0H-a8Ibq0q8/s400/IMG_20200118_113423.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Approaching the Crag path gate</td></tr>
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The Crag path</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo2Ah5IsHOPWSafo1dd-OxMlIDpGkiHpWR_pc_GOyFVNHfsIcCcgHQ4bVmu0Y1o9QVWZnvlyJ-RKs_LK4sV5ZPr2fBtmh-884xdMiwL5eTXEqUP_zQz6qoCi8G6c5T5VsSrcPjiE_e4Dw/s1600/IMG_5137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1077" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo2Ah5IsHOPWSafo1dd-OxMlIDpGkiHpWR_pc_GOyFVNHfsIcCcgHQ4bVmu0Y1o9QVWZnvlyJ-RKs_LK4sV5ZPr2fBtmh-884xdMiwL5eTXEqUP_zQz6qoCi8G6c5T5VsSrcPjiE_e4Dw/s400/IMG_5137.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crag path</td></tr>
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At Mossy Mere<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDsUEmIYRmr4Fqnfotc9CSKr_DsbzFKEecr2yXjpZYP8Pqq1vMoJVQL_aSWqRJgAzNJs1I_0EFrB6cjkpx9ceAHcNaQlDeW2-6BUj6m6GRzUgO1OXIrU08oHDcBupjrg4W1wUf-BLv_g/s1600/IMG_20200118_122106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDsUEmIYRmr4Fqnfotc9CSKr_DsbzFKEecr2yXjpZYP8Pqq1vMoJVQL_aSWqRJgAzNJs1I_0EFrB6cjkpx9ceAHcNaQlDeW2-6BUj6m6GRzUgO1OXIrU08oHDcBupjrg4W1wUf-BLv_g/s400/IMG_20200118_122106.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back into the ghyll</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy6AdIs0jpSczMeMP37LFe8Jugu7Nc8Frvn-pwknhgWBpGC_MHz-DaQxJK93kHCyvEkp_gXyn2z3cv9943WHdhbRiHqU9uRJ4dHlBImYT_efKeadeOIe1atzuDIcTPnElwr8oc6b44lo4/s1600/IMG_20200118_124431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy6AdIs0jpSczMeMP37LFe8Jugu7Nc8Frvn-pwknhgWBpGC_MHz-DaQxJK93kHCyvEkp_gXyn2z3cv9943WHdhbRiHqU9uRJ4dHlBImYT_efKeadeOIe1atzuDIcTPnElwr8oc6b44lo4/s400/IMG_20200118_124431.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hebden Ghyll</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dwarf ferns growing from a mossy wall<br />
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On Sunday we got out of bed in the darkness, had a quick coffee and were driving up the road to Grimwith, scattering pheasants as we went., prelude to a glorious run.<br />
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Breaking dawn. Running frequently stopped for photographs</div>
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Dawn colours and ice on the track</div>
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Avoiding the ice</div>
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More ice</div>
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Running into the sunrise<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2STArt0lZ3PGtzufonlxwD4_jcO8Am1W1-cgAgTTO3Ne6YHuEq-W1GIpC0FjuOpmSq7W8uxai-XsE46APzgDKwj3jOXpXAwn79rN6x2e-ipeoWSzTTBFp5_Cby0mTmnxOqx34yj8gNM/s1600/IMG_5162+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="1100" data-original-width="1600" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2STArt0lZ3PGtzufonlxwD4_jcO8Am1W1-cgAgTTO3Ne6YHuEq-W1GIpC0FjuOpmSq7W8uxai-XsE46APzgDKwj3jOXpXAwn79rN6x2e-ipeoWSzTTBFp5_Cby0mTmnxOqx34yj8gNM/s400/IMG_5162+%25283%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Feeling a bit of warmth in the sun<br />
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Back o' Grimwith<br />
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Sun rising on a frozen landscape, back o' Grimwith<br />
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Reservoir like a mill pond<br />
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Back into the shadows under the hill<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk3uHcQ0hCqN1hLSkDLP4V_AmAKhQiFh15ZG08-3t5-WojsWvhOoXJrnuhwBddfxVXdCGut2B7QFv0ybLThY8CbApPW4Q8a7JfW46CtO-EML-M8Fmk7GbSKaRtgiOlqv43TdNDfP2BjD4/s1600/IMG_20200119_090936.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1118" data-original-width="1600" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk3uHcQ0hCqN1hLSkDLP4V_AmAKhQiFh15ZG08-3t5-WojsWvhOoXJrnuhwBddfxVXdCGut2B7QFv0ybLThY8CbApPW4Q8a7JfW46CtO-EML-M8Fmk7GbSKaRtgiOlqv43TdNDfP2BjD4/s400/IMG_20200119_090936.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Almost finished<br />
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Time for porridge - almost - just a short drive home now.<br />
Hope the car hasn't frozen up again!<br />
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-40296405782733160652020-01-15T18:47:00.000+00:002020-01-22T00:02:40.290+00:00When you can't sleep...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A full moon was lighting up the bedroom when I awoke at 6.30 last Friday morning. After injections to both eyes on Thursday that almost blinded me I'd gone to bed early. Now, I could see again and was rarin' to go for a run to erase nasty memories of the previous day.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friday's full moon... (Click to enlarge)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I stepped out under a clear sky into a silent world. Grass was brittle and glittering in the moonlight as I made my way through frozen fields towards Castle Hill. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnVNuErq8D5oA1V7ptA2W9FYq2E2KbrNTN_yGa1qPKWfk-pSmrlQQgl6ZkV02wgCfb0y99wENyvBhlIzoRBCbTi2R71HcmN47B6Ji3Qt34h4sQksxXIj7eoGX_2PvJ1txrEUcyj_1AkI/s1600/IMG_5289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnVNuErq8D5oA1V7ptA2W9FYq2E2KbrNTN_yGa1qPKWfk-pSmrlQQgl6ZkV02wgCfb0y99wENyvBhlIzoRBCbTi2R71HcmN47B6Ji3Qt34h4sQksxXIj7eoGX_2PvJ1txrEUcyj_1AkI/s400/IMG_5289.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two masts at breaking dawn</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At breaking dawn the local poacher materialized from the gloom with his two whippets and asked the inevitable two questions, </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Have you seen anything of Geoff lately (a </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">mutual</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">friend who is quite ill)" and "how is your prostate now?" I answered "No" to the first question and "It's manageable" to the second before tackling the final steep slope to the summit.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ghost runner</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The sky had lightened to pale orange as I circled the rim of the hill for a couple of circuits, waiting for the sun to peep over the horizon. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I didn't have to wait long. Pretty soon the whole landscape was awash with the sun's fiery rays and for the first time that morning I began to feel warm. I jogged home in search of further warmth, hot porridge and a mug of reviving coffee.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's two months since my last radiotherapy treatment and I haven't yet found the eagerness to run. The Oncologist told me it would take time to recover but I didn't expect it to take this long! Perhaps my 87 years has something to do with it?</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise on the cricket field</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But I'm trying. Early morning reps on a local cricket field, stopping and jogging home when the sun comes up, is a current favourite. I don't like folk seeing how much I've slowed!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi075WZMkDaOXiGYeVnXMJy8Dcj4VCnh9bp0rSe6nGwFkJ7XxkSiIeN_tey32chuTnBrzDNRmQfAG_g7uSn6XPnp4BxQthXwQ2HOMY79DfUtEBZo8csY1mKLjkH8AUGjTVU2kmSjpYB1f0/s1600/IMG_5126+%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi075WZMkDaOXiGYeVnXMJy8Dcj4VCnh9bp0rSe6nGwFkJ7XxkSiIeN_tey32chuTnBrzDNRmQfAG_g7uSn6XPnp4BxQthXwQ2HOMY79DfUtEBZo8csY1mKLjkH8AUGjTVU2kmSjpYB1f0/s400/IMG_5126+%25285%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Round Grimwith</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And, together with my wonderful partner I've been on dawn runs round Grimwith reservoir.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMShYYmsOsQQxt21LDTzTGWbrzx5defopYsJ8mjL9WGS4DJb2VSsStzNBKU2G-qfW1Q1eCu1HPMK-iRExKXcNWYDZCQLwInVOxXlQKzMqBIAa6wRFk_AnG3hQwtHorrcXi9Gt-vq4HBHQ/s1600/IMG_20200104_122236+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMShYYmsOsQQxt21LDTzTGWbrzx5defopYsJ8mjL9WGS4DJb2VSsStzNBKU2G-qfW1Q1eCu1HPMK-iRExKXcNWYDZCQLwInVOxXlQKzMqBIAa6wRFk_AnG3hQwtHorrcXi9Gt-vq4HBHQ/s400/IMG_20200104_122236+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Come on, slow coach...</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She sometimes has to wait for me, which rankles a bit, but she is a tiny bit younger than me.... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">...which is better than thinking the radiotherapy hasn't worked.</span></div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-43835981383868622432019-12-22T11:38:00.000+00:002019-12-22T15:33:06.156+00:00Winter Solstice......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Maybe there's a bit of Druid blood in me for I just had to get out today on the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice. I struggled a wee bit up Castle Hill (read walked!) but got into some sort of flow again once I reached my old running track on the flatter top. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1o0SUUZ21KAZ1GQL8htnoB_1JIz1QJodNZr8xH8cxJbQFkkligUFUYNHTh29ekBruakaG42a6qnvMqX1rPtTI0_BMbdwsnh92m-AR3z8Y7QRUii7rwi08b7_kEfaonsr9484fTKPzbo/s1600/My+running+track.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="1600" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1o0SUUZ21KAZ1GQL8htnoB_1JIz1QJodNZr8xH8cxJbQFkkligUFUYNHTh29ekBruakaG42a6qnvMqX1rPtTI0_BMbdwsnh92m-AR3z8Y7QRUii7rwi08b7_kEfaonsr9484fTKPzbo/s400/My+running+track.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My running track (Click to enlarge pictures)</td></tr>
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I just had to stop and take a photograph, it felt so good to be back again, running on top of my little world, even in cloud and a nithering wind. I could hear music playing and drums beating and I felt they were playing just for me, a welcoming back from that dark world I'd been living in for the past few months. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk9Mqrk-AG578qmK8OUShvpfqzAwY16Ddg-DSjx9gvfKUROeWhOgWbWqvlOuI8OotguU_veFRus8_EukMa8nNK0e-a7V8d_KpGPU9YRQn7-5S45NRfYQuIZy13wLj7qca079KFk-YIuW0/s1600/They%2527re+there.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1299" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk9Mqrk-AG578qmK8OUShvpfqzAwY16Ddg-DSjx9gvfKUROeWhOgWbWqvlOuI8OotguU_veFRus8_EukMa8nNK0e-a7V8d_KpGPU9YRQn7-5S45NRfYQuIZy13wLj7qca079KFk-YIuW0/s400/They%2527re+there.jpg" width="323" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching the tower</td></tr>
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A little thrill was rippling through me as I approached Victoria Tower. The folk group, Thieving Magpie, were going through their exuberant paces on the grass in time to the music of half a dozen darkly dressed instrumentalists. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4sAUoUXuKWRoUBP_q9Y7gIUPPolED1aQPD-AbeOEr6FxFyYJasindgMlgnZzHhPV0PmyaznKfihn-SFD51urqyfbNlLEAwwmuC3Ooqs03A-7WRT3q7F3hPuh0BjPCh8wDmpwkCKbbV4/s1600/Thieving+Mag%255Bie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1105" data-original-width="1600" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4sAUoUXuKWRoUBP_q9Y7gIUPPolED1aQPD-AbeOEr6FxFyYJasindgMlgnZzHhPV0PmyaznKfihn-SFD51urqyfbNlLEAwwmuC3Ooqs03A-7WRT3q7F3hPuh0BjPCh8wDmpwkCKbbV4/s400/Thieving+Mag%255Bie.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thieving Magpie performing</td></tr>
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There was shouting and clacking of sticks as they went about their merry dance. It'a shame the sun didn't join in the celebration. peeping over the horizon to light up the fun and proclaim that we were hopefully going to see a lot more of it in 2020</div>
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I jogged home through muddy fields, shouting 'hello you lot' to the horses I mentioned in yesterday's post.</div>
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This animal was happy,</div>
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very happy.</div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-7291768457089699382019-12-21T17:50:00.000+00:002019-12-21T17:50:10.214+00:00I'n not done yet.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I went for a run today, or rather I jogged across waterlogged fields, along a lane that resembled a muddy river before saying hello to a posse of mainly skewbald horses on the steep part of Castle Hill. </div>
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Oh, and it was raining. </div>
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It was my first run for 88 days and in spite of inclement weather it felt so good to don my studs in the early morning and to feel wind and rain on my face again. After the big C and drastic treatment, it had seemed doubtful whether I'd ever run again.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8fP4h22Umncfxmogd7UdwZ4n9g7Jkb1yxdihTo5H2C_vdT4lJXwYu02pNYC-XKjzXZBp_bMXlcB1ml004AHQjrEc8hwgg9BToBMFNLzxo5DBVjFi16TcAkAm6uaSnekbu3hs8dRoyh1M/s1600/IMG_20191221_082617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8fP4h22Umncfxmogd7UdwZ4n9g7Jkb1yxdihTo5H2C_vdT4lJXwYu02pNYC-XKjzXZBp_bMXlcB1ml004AHQjrEc8hwgg9BToBMFNLzxo5DBVjFi16TcAkAm6uaSnekbu3hs8dRoyh1M/s400/IMG_20191221_082617.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friendly horses on Castle Hill (Click to enlarge picture)</td></tr>
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I'd set my mind on December 21st because at each Solstice a Folk Group, Thieving Magpie, dance on Castle Hill to greet the sun on the longest or shortest day. But they weren't there today, I assume because Winter Solstice this year occurs on the 22nd! </div>
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I'll probably go again tomorrow.</div>
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Besides all the rain we've had some mixed weather in the Dales.</div>
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We've had mist, making it feel quite atmospheric,</div>
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a blanket of snow </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcaGJOCN8cID2umI8Suyh2Co0XaJD8luli_j9JlqQanc9Zw7awGAYMrXZh7iWk-eO8GcaqWAVj4JwzMqYPOLy7s-0LWg4rDPhMcBT3KYk1xM3GmgbbbYjwy2I9cNDLT1yN_KvWm0DurA/s1600/IMG_20191218_085749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcaGJOCN8cID2umI8Suyh2Co0XaJD8luli_j9JlqQanc9Zw7awGAYMrXZh7iWk-eO8GcaqWAVj4JwzMqYPOLy7s-0LWg4rDPhMcBT3KYk1xM3GmgbbbYjwy2I9cNDLT1yN_KvWm0DurA/s320/IMG_20191218_085749.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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and occasionally a beautiful sunrise,</div>
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but unfortunately I've felt too knackered to enjoy it. </div>
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Perhaps that will change over Christmas and New Year when Old Runningfox will attempt to acquaint himself with local trails again.</div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-30171432663030061602019-10-20T17:40:00.000+01:002019-10-20T17:52:15.427+01:00Dreams...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Running is currently out of the question, which is hard to take. It's what I enjoy most, the only thing I'm any good at. It gives me a time from the world, from Brexit, a time to float along, a free spirit, to forget my age, escape reality, to run for sheer enjoyment with no thought of time nor distance or training schedules. </div>
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To 'just do it'.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reduced to walking - temporarily, I hope (click to enlarge)</td></tr>
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An inspirational C. S. Lewis quote says "You are never too old to set a new goal or dream a new dream" and I wondered just how old he was when he said it? Well, he died when he was 64 so I don't know whether he'd still say that if he'd lived to 87?</div>
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Which just happens to be my age.</div>
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I still have dreams, especially after a glass or two of wine, but at my time of life it's increasingly unlikely they'll become reality. Nevertheless, I remain optimistic, always believing that fate, or God, still has something good in store for me, but what it can possibly be will remain a mystery until it happens. </div>
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I like surprises....</div>
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oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-42546302158403961842019-09-11T20:28:00.001+01:002019-09-22T20:25:41.849+01:00Back to magnificent Menorca......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We've just had another glorious holiday in one of our favourite corners of the planet, the beautiful island of Menorca, but we almost didn't make it. The week before we were due to fly I'd gone into hospital for a biopsy and the bl--dy doctors wouldn't let me out. They wanted to cut a hole in my side and stick a cathether through, presumably with a tap on it, to enable me to pass water from my bunged up kidney. I refused to let them. A 'bag' was mentioned too. They could get lost! I'd look well running or swimming with such impedimenta trailing beside me. After four sleepless nights, due to constant noise and glaring lights, I was knackered.</div>
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"If you don't let me out tomorrow, I'll discharge myself" I told them.</div>
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Reluctantly, they allowed me home next morning, four days before our holiday was due to begin.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9o3DZuDFkylp8ZK876-QpumQT0bHDB7OS_IgrSIfu-4A7KZa2calc39q7L2bmx9Ngnz8eZqXq8qrIdnElRMiJoUaksEx0fV1Ibe_97uGUrKMuW_wGuiF0aEoNsgNiwPCisf7WAkbnGaw/s1600/DSC02900-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1206" data-original-width="1600" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9o3DZuDFkylp8ZK876-QpumQT0bHDB7OS_IgrSIfu-4A7KZa2calc39q7L2bmx9Ngnz8eZqXq8qrIdnElRMiJoUaksEx0fV1Ibe_97uGUrKMuW_wGuiF0aEoNsgNiwPCisf7WAkbnGaw/s400/DSC02900-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our hotel with its feet in the sea (Click to enlarge pictures)</td></tr>
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Check-ins and flights both in and out were OK but we'd the usual long wait for our baggage at Manchester on return.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_cwNgOlR6jwzoS7Nlbi7AmRYeMvEsi69wlEzP6Whh2JASQdZo7tZkgCTV-08EQDGSJstvAjeViqtf-Yhk_QwOAVB6Rd3EdD-Ogztd2cdPasr3mMqz7uW2Cbf-5pdN4BPyoH-7Nu6E0mc/s1600/DSC02852-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1282" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_cwNgOlR6jwzoS7Nlbi7AmRYeMvEsi69wlEzP6Whh2JASQdZo7tZkgCTV-08EQDGSJstvAjeViqtf-Yhk_QwOAVB6Rd3EdD-Ogztd2cdPasr3mMqz7uW2Cbf-5pdN4BPyoH-7Nu6E0mc/s400/DSC02852-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise run to the Tower</td></tr>
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As on previous occasions we stayed at 'The Xuroy', a wonderfully situated hotel that sits with its feet in the water and gives access to the Cami de Cavalls (the way of horses), a well marked trail that goes all round the island.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkWhKHwsPu9_W19bzCExtxxAHbQS92g9Ixn_3HE7BLcKlvO-PdpDvayILOpQIDiEMmdqUFAY22n0QEptIPoIKKJOFKcvPHsiCvGABNJbSjve-BGfL8RETHQIoWOXQkfAZXZyGrQkpcek/s1600/DSC02867-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1267" data-original-width="1600" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkWhKHwsPu9_W19bzCExtxxAHbQS92g9Ixn_3HE7BLcKlvO-PdpDvayILOpQIDiEMmdqUFAY22n0QEptIPoIKKJOFKcvPHsiCvGABNJbSjve-BGfL8RETHQIoWOXQkfAZXZyGrQkpcek/s400/DSC02867-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The festival begins</td></tr>
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After a pre-breakfast run to the Tower and back on our second day we took the bus to Sant Louis to watch the festival of horses.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjAUkP9tXv7a3OkHRMHKzdMnUjxHeNot42jS6JMI_S95bl7VUBpl0JScjr30ZYCp25BdoVKUVYxnNSRIh5bwD5Xa8-cRLoLxWGmZFW5YsNWce7kTG7gFk-g_vSVmQsHMNND96ATE2xDE/s1600/DSC02892-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1297" data-original-width="1600" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjAUkP9tXv7a3OkHRMHKzdMnUjxHeNot42jS6JMI_S95bl7VUBpl0JScjr30ZYCp25BdoVKUVYxnNSRIh5bwD5Xa8-cRLoLxWGmZFW5YsNWce7kTG7gFk-g_vSVmQsHMNND96ATE2xDE/s400/DSC02892-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clever lady</td></tr>
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Tons of sand are spread on the street where the action takes place to make it safer for the rearing horses.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-9UPAembLGH65n59k_wljLKwiI_aLrS7mEM-hvxkQo8jYVtu4PgimQ6kcrSM3763ZEzOExxNkKz27FmfEZfqQlg2EapE9BOStQAezNMinojsWnJrOPkDRf_k0DsbzWCjygbgNIC7PAo/s1600/DSC02872-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1267" data-original-width="1600" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-9UPAembLGH65n59k_wljLKwiI_aLrS7mEM-hvxkQo8jYVtu4PgimQ6kcrSM3763ZEzOExxNkKz27FmfEZfqQlg2EapE9BOStQAezNMinojsWnJrOPkDRf_k0DsbzWCjygbgNIC7PAo/s400/DSC02872-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A dangerous game</td></tr>
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In the limited space in front of the band-stand, where all the dignitaries sit, crowds of people gather, some of them to tap the wheeling steeds as they rear into the air.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzM8M7HMzvGoidcBdMu0WzVUVs2Fn8MybBrUUPq9evlF4hKC-7Ckpccrf0sXrz2QTwTA8nnpsdlT6TUwyq5JbwQteNY49zdiiwsP8h5JmRanjBnOtMoSK14d-lgA37s2ReAcKxxVZeXSw/s1600/DSC02890-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1383" data-original-width="1600" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzM8M7HMzvGoidcBdMu0WzVUVs2Fn8MybBrUUPq9evlF4hKC-7Ckpccrf0sXrz2QTwTA8nnpsdlT6TUwyq5JbwQteNY49zdiiwsP8h5JmRanjBnOtMoSK14d-lgA37s2ReAcKxxVZeXSw/s400/DSC02890-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I gave that a miss...</td></tr>
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It's a dangerous game and we heard one or two ambulances tearing through the streets. I wasn't trying to 'prove' myself but still got a knock from one of the horses, but nothing serious.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilqu1qAkrvzV_-MtgcvP-FWI438HUButTPgvllJHQorp_o4Hdzt2CYbpK5ilAsIoEB0Um4OLfEdlKl2RN3ZsHuF3Goj9OJ3ls-X8QfGbAxN2BwFW6Ud5PA-8Qc9HklWE1FHzoitGLaLRk/s1600/IMG_4698-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1239" data-original-width="1600" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilqu1qAkrvzV_-MtgcvP-FWI438HUButTPgvllJHQorp_o4Hdzt2CYbpK5ilAsIoEB0Um4OLfEdlKl2RN3ZsHuF3Goj9OJ3ls-X8QfGbAxN2BwFW6Ud5PA-8Qc9HklWE1FHzoitGLaLRk/s400/IMG_4698-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many cooling swims</td></tr>
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We returned to our hotel for lunch before going down to the pool for a gentle swim to cool off from the scorching 86º heat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8Dkjx36CxghER_dVKxruPuU6SXT0KoMVm_KfkSyaCeIxy2T9yoyFRYMC9C3PbCAbe8-xwfO9XcG2VRkOHeiTosSrhBtS6vWueQ3MqeE6QhlCOEfg7B7VDoQFKjPlKoPy-gwfNZebJ9o/s1600/IMG_4784-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1381" data-original-width="1600" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8Dkjx36CxghER_dVKxruPuU6SXT0KoMVm_KfkSyaCeIxy2T9yoyFRYMC9C3PbCAbe8-xwfO9XcG2VRkOHeiTosSrhBtS6vWueQ3MqeE6QhlCOEfg7B7VDoQFKjPlKoPy-gwfNZebJ9o/s400/IMG_4784-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feral cats</td></tr>
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We ran to Rafalet Vell in search of wild tortoises but saw nary a one. What we did see was the group of feral cats which were a little tamer this year than last time we came across them. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMIborA4BI49Lqh3kQ1fSDgp5bwDWSZjYHwxshTE2xE6arr6WIt9BnD9qExKnKjamPaH8iyx3Yc7Dt78Yed9FvQLtLQE-o51pxzbStczpJGcAVR1O-AL-x7oVSoEirBTnvvYSNVQPzkHs/s1600/DSC02946-003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1286" data-original-width="1600" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMIborA4BI49Lqh3kQ1fSDgp5bwDWSZjYHwxshTE2xE6arr6WIt9BnD9qExKnKjamPaH8iyx3Yc7Dt78Yed9FvQLtLQE-o51pxzbStczpJGcAVR1O-AL-x7oVSoEirBTnvvYSNVQPzkHs/s400/DSC02946-003.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two of the 7 or 8 feral cats</td></tr>
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Some kind person feeds them every day and they all look in tip top condition.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvg_WGm6iUw7hDAuKZfrg5MJeFU3vT688szqCesKJO0TxWuLCREaFQp4JIKHAH7oZssjSLsaZZtWsQQcGFOfznoS8Ul5iTH6QOVapl3uWlzfNMWiYAGVnHNeOqggisjgNvG2U2eZF2Ds/s1600/IMG_4716-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1208" data-original-width="1600" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvg_WGm6iUw7hDAuKZfrg5MJeFU3vT688szqCesKJO0TxWuLCREaFQp4JIKHAH7oZssjSLsaZZtWsQQcGFOfznoS8Ul5iTH6QOVapl3uWlzfNMWiYAGVnHNeOqggisjgNvG2U2eZF2Ds/s400/IMG_4716-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swimming at sunrise, Cala Rafalet</td></tr>
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On another day we embarked on a five mile run incorporating a wild swim at Cala Rafalet.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mg00DoUIBroECaIV3x_jGJbw9Yuggc6dW3oVkmtrmrQAW38xerzFNYd3m4oCIeUIFJtZXySEtdoCYk-JTRf8z8VsFFhqx38HuxGNxfO0D6XO33dAYRiLXYUvZ1bni1_Q64yKohOcfv0/s1600/IMG_4722-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1208" data-original-width="1600" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mg00DoUIBroECaIV3x_jGJbw9Yuggc6dW3oVkmtrmrQAW38xerzFNYd3m4oCIeUIFJtZXySEtdoCYk-JTRf8z8VsFFhqx38HuxGNxfO0D6XO33dAYRiLXYUvZ1bni1_Q64yKohOcfv0/s400/IMG_4722-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunlight on the rocks, Cala Rafalet</td></tr>
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It's a rocky inlet of deep water between high cliffs and we got there just as the sun was rising at the entrance between the rocks. Magic.<span id="goog_920722677"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIkp1f1MwvhT20UWglRTt6m1QwHgDD4TB40bKG_Ezk-fxUHvFrUoKOTmrzla1wrHxFCLafgbPAgbvxP_el3ytn1Rr7DWRZ9OExd2Cx5dek2dCOSN-9g-vGCE2se6DzMih5GpINDp7hCvk/s1600/DSC02906-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1276" data-original-width="1600" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIkp1f1MwvhT20UWglRTt6m1QwHgDD4TB40bKG_Ezk-fxUHvFrUoKOTmrzla1wrHxFCLafgbPAgbvxP_el3ytn1Rr7DWRZ9OExd2Cx5dek2dCOSN-9g-vGCE2se6DzMih5GpINDp7hCvk/s400/DSC02906-002.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">S'Algar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span id="goog_920722676"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We ran back to our hotel via S'Algar where sunbathers were just beginning to emerge. Our breakfast wasn't untill 8.30</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMBK3U5gz8sv0xhgNBQvwEFPadZvgC28-3EoqiqFZ3XFCDVkF1PjNbz5zerCQq-zJb-COJ0tjB3VwJltdtMjbmxtWY9HBNXWfTuivGesuLVpVDJdmSmjpitlwsu0VuFtmFPWQHxeJ-dUI/s1600/DSC02991-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1208" data-original-width="1600" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMBK3U5gz8sv0xhgNBQvwEFPadZvgC28-3EoqiqFZ3XFCDVkF1PjNbz5zerCQq-zJb-COJ0tjB3VwJltdtMjbmxtWY9HBNXWfTuivGesuLVpVDJdmSmjpitlwsu0VuFtmFPWQHxeJ-dUI/s400/DSC02991-002.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying a coffee at the bakery.</td></tr>
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After breakfast we got into the habit of visiting the bakery at S'Algar, mainly for bread, but also to enjoy a cappuccino before walking the mile back to our hotel.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP8PDCImehavtzQpktJg3m9ZjsOxnOnlDCwojORVREzNJMSqk8e48lW9O4MhCwidKkqW5Rlx8RhaIytaWlhLS5faJut3NTEu-M-xUfgyubS1U59n0D2w3IRu-judFUJ0Q3Ipp0ummf2pI/s1600/DSC02936-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1208" data-original-width="1600" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP8PDCImehavtzQpktJg3m9ZjsOxnOnlDCwojORVREzNJMSqk8e48lW9O4MhCwidKkqW5Rlx8RhaIytaWlhLS5faJut3NTEu-M-xUfgyubS1U59n0D2w3IRu-judFUJ0Q3Ipp0ummf2pI/s400/DSC02936-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sunrise view as we ran North to Son Vidal</td></tr>
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All our runs were pre-breakfast so we were treated to some dramatic skies as we ran West or North along the Cami de Cavalls.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1K82aCKXOEPrK3XIHFLlsTPSjSPiRCGZgmbpDTi4ArKYSzF86IfCPGVwUcIangLEmPXvmOnG_BpUkXxYowl3jmCPJ4g9TvsuKX43gVljv-JlCX2Ij07HFmPcfe3rFP8-kgUNwDgDl7DQ/s1600/DSC02951-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1600" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1K82aCKXOEPrK3XIHFLlsTPSjSPiRCGZgmbpDTi4ArKYSzF86IfCPGVwUcIangLEmPXvmOnG_BpUkXxYowl3jmCPJ4g9TvsuKX43gVljv-JlCX2Ij07HFmPcfe3rFP8-kgUNwDgDl7DQ/s400/DSC02951-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No place for road runners..</td></tr>
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Wherever we ran, it was rough going and we'd to be extremely careful not to trip up..<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Ow5FxcZLLgTyAxNWYQDNqJGqg35L6MgryylOiNQl_oHGh9AWzIUoFJ5X4NnFHjig5Cdz2OgX8sgKZV2OWdCsic9rVnYzmq1BJkFvJeAFrCIb1BPAm1CB80a-vNIbJkstFHRX3kDXA8g/s1600/IMG_4760-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1259" data-original-width="1600" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Ow5FxcZLLgTyAxNWYQDNqJGqg35L6MgryylOiNQl_oHGh9AWzIUoFJ5X4NnFHjig5Cdz2OgX8sgKZV2OWdCsic9rVnYzmq1BJkFvJeAFrCIb1BPAm1CB80a-vNIbJkstFHRX3kDXA8g/s400/IMG_4760-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...but OK for hardened fell runners</td></tr>
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Remarkably, with my failing eyesight, I never had a fall. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8uz6bH8MtVG1hVzFvObtlFNOkdNdkclVsKZ5g2EaINUOQdQLZEjVO_VxfN0uFL3jdYiqZdKOp2NkJeWxEw963Vfyyzb71wMj_8aZ2kk9cmXwVNzayq8QX6EPBxVqP6ToSWT70KojFft4/s1600/IMG_4798-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1208" data-original-width="1600" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8uz6bH8MtVG1hVzFvObtlFNOkdNdkclVsKZ5g2EaINUOQdQLZEjVO_VxfN0uFL3jdYiqZdKOp2NkJeWxEw963Vfyyzb71wMj_8aZ2kk9cmXwVNzayq8QX6EPBxVqP6ToSWT70KojFft4/s400/IMG_4798-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the 'Oliver House'</td></tr>
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My wonderful partner visited Mahon alone one day, mainly to look around the 'Oliver House' which was open to the public.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxCpqRQxjoXGRDkXezVPG_CJ2s26nKwifjd7jClbuxjdy3SkDbV5yOdFJH9eg8p-7tNlCA80WkLeyDYAQTXw2kZP8EDO40bSRSBnYbdOYuqLtq3z7umJDt35RcwhoncZ6s6ZP3AJcFzoY/s1600/IMG_4802-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1208" data-original-width="1600" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxCpqRQxjoXGRDkXezVPG_CJ2s26nKwifjd7jClbuxjdy3SkDbV5yOdFJH9eg8p-7tNlCA80WkLeyDYAQTXw2kZP8EDO40bSRSBnYbdOYuqLtq3z7umJDt35RcwhoncZ6s6ZP3AJcFzoY/s400/IMG_4802-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View over the rooftops in Mahon</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASxTBwZJ_V2LsXF7vzBHNUV3MnIqAu_7JMBLONywKADVNwo6CCnqi4r87qhMEdfiDOO4I1mKgw4_3dTyFkhTJS-fgKsL30j0v9I8jYsft457SXPLGx1cqkYvxBsCVQzT75yBSKgZkbco/s1600/IMG_4808-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1364" data-original-width="1600" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASxTBwZJ_V2LsXF7vzBHNUV3MnIqAu_7JMBLONywKADVNwo6CCnqi4r87qhMEdfiDOO4I1mKgw4_3dTyFkhTJS-fgKsL30j0v9I8jYsft457SXPLGx1cqkYvxBsCVQzT75yBSKgZkbco/s400/IMG_4808-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
The Inter Island ferry was in the harbour<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrHTlgwiMrMF32BQAF0rOX19lhFt5grPAib1EAEf6xKzIzNR11moojI2xTDOX_5ejlbKkKo4EGXN6aX4tD6v0Hl2fjn7WpFXfWVJqVFtwOFNE6Qz1q-tycHipfmEeCFKeMrJft5Kr-bU/s1600/IMG_4806-001.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="1288" data-original-width="1600" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrHTlgwiMrMF32BQAF0rOX19lhFt5grPAib1EAEf6xKzIzNR11moojI2xTDOX_5ejlbKkKo4EGXN6aX4tD6v0Hl2fjn7WpFXfWVJqVFtwOFNE6Qz1q-tycHipfmEeCFKeMrJft5Kr-bU/s400/IMG_4806-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
So was a three masted sailing ship.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3zbkboKctN198U7sfj4lAJ21kaxaH9F2xPvXwcS9RL-1POLXgjX5oHWc-3IU1digQINvdCQdXCQmnUQ8SaleVdllVgnU-1nk6OY9kBHJ2PHM6ew64lw1yaKkv20ybysmRQ6kFraYg4g/s1600/IMG_20190830_104413307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1162" data-original-width="1600" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3zbkboKctN198U7sfj4lAJ21kaxaH9F2xPvXwcS9RL-1POLXgjX5oHWc-3IU1digQINvdCQdXCQmnUQ8SaleVdllVgnU-1nk6OY9kBHJ2PHM6ew64lw1yaKkv20ybysmRQ6kFraYg4g/s400/IMG_20190830_104413307.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A 'long thing' to sit on - at Es Grau</td></tr>
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We'd a walk round the nature reserve at Es Grau one day but all the natural phenomena seemed to be hiding, or sheltering from the heat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNqlJxLePM1quDK8j9fmYl9ptYdkjvcUemtQjXNDzBkv3XBALwNeG8_I3uh4NFyCz2l_1HdQdCgIKJDJfDEeVvtcivCV_WDD5ODFkJi6KPaVHn5-i-qaaGKlOUjl2elcmWVYP6D094tXk/s1600/IMG_4744-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1163" data-original-width="1549" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNqlJxLePM1quDK8j9fmYl9ptYdkjvcUemtQjXNDzBkv3XBALwNeG8_I3uh4NFyCz2l_1HdQdCgIKJDJfDEeVvtcivCV_WDD5ODFkJi6KPaVHn5-i-qaaGKlOUjl2elcmWVYP6D094tXk/s400/IMG_4744-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
No tortoise or raptors, but some big fish in the lake and a heron on the lookout for smaller ones.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf-eRjM7C2jxnAbMZusRNckqrPj5aflYDpJK53z5OYr-93jQqD1miJ3z2kFoySVhcrLjdsYd2erkG_JvdU_PCHxkGsf9aDcll62GdV_v3LeeV3dCsMyDsi5IcCaAGy7_b-N74ceb-5W5k/s1600/DSC03006-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1247" data-original-width="1600" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf-eRjM7C2jxnAbMZusRNckqrPj5aflYDpJK53z5OYr-93jQqD1miJ3z2kFoySVhcrLjdsYd2erkG_JvdU_PCHxkGsf9aDcll62GdV_v3LeeV3dCsMyDsi5IcCaAGy7_b-N74ceb-5W5k/s400/DSC03006-002.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RIP Happy Hour</td></tr>
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We were rather upset to find that 'Happy Hour' on the terrace, which always began at the beginning of September has been moved to October! Who the hell goes in October?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABd8mxH9SJhyphenhyphenK6icpZDH7IGLEb15AGjPBkGZO_bWP3eLIGYN4-mMJUkEOTGOo-qaJ9hIjYQ4su15ECGo0PhPyjILdJ-L9QGMKSeWjiTBs9v9XbRDHPffw1r_lu_uck2fex0oMfUQCwJM/s1600/IMG_4735-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1465" data-original-width="1600" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABd8mxH9SJhyphenhyphenK6icpZDH7IGLEb15AGjPBkGZO_bWP3eLIGYN4-mMJUkEOTGOo-qaJ9hIjYQ4su15ECGo0PhPyjILdJ-L9QGMKSeWjiTBs9v9XbRDHPffw1r_lu_uck2fex0oMfUQCwJM/s400/IMG_4735-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still happy - in spite of no Happy Hour</td></tr>
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But we still went down at the appointed hour to enjoy the view and the ambience.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLh0GD7KNJXTKP-gQe9j8c-BtzYiNC2vSXDIwQ4qa194LM5Sy17VhBS1p5uOpFLPSYnAwJOLC95e5pb35wSJ0B0BUHV2sN2PCECC_3QiuRnV-dU92oR066o0xoh3qiGRFTnGZHZdXIFA8/s1600/DSC03012-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1283" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLh0GD7KNJXTKP-gQe9j8c-BtzYiNC2vSXDIwQ4qa194LM5Sy17VhBS1p5uOpFLPSYnAwJOLC95e5pb35wSJ0B0BUHV2sN2PCECC_3QiuRnV-dU92oR066o0xoh3qiGRFTnGZHZdXIFA8/s400/DSC03012-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for a last meal before flying home</td></tr>
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Traditionally, on our last day we'd a relaxed lunch at the fine Piccolo Mundo restaurant to round off our holiday. Hours later we were flying home<br />
It was another wonderful holiday. Doctors can cut and zap me as much as they want now - so long as they get me running again.<br />
But it could be a while.</div>
</div>
oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117707725943210131.post-25450413422515213252019-08-04T20:01:00.000+01:002019-12-03T20:48:42.216+00:00A slight trauma.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
"The CT scan showed nothing abnormal to your brain so you can go home now" Those were the words of an unsmiling, unsympathetic, heartless woman who masqueraded as a doctor at Huddersfield Royal Infirmary to where I'd been rushed in a blaring ambulance, unable to walk without support and unable to sign a consent form with my left hand.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"How will I get home?" I asked.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Can't someone pick you up?"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Not really,". My partner was at a meeting 30 miles away and her phone was switched off"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Haven't you enough money for a taxi?" was her next question.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Well, yes, but I was rather expecting you'd provide transport and a little help".</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Well, we can but not for about four hours" she said, abruptly turning on her heel and leaving me stranded in a wheelchair. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Warmth, sympathy and understanding, parts of the Hippocratic Oath, seemingly meant nothing to her.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I fumbled my way along the wall out of the ward, dragged my leg up stairs and across the bridge to the main entrance and phoned a taxi that kindly took me as near to my door as he could get.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I spent a weekend licking my wounds, lovingly cared for by my wonderful partner.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Perhaps you should try a little walk down to the river" she said on Sunday.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I tried but could only manage a few hundred yards on wobbly legs.<br />
. . . . . . </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Back home in Almondbury I forced myself into "I can and I bloody well will" mode.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
On a sunny Monday lunchtime I managed a mile walk with a stop off at a favourite fish and chip shop for sustenance.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlijaiV89RqdIPkVbFjlmA5sohjQF9AlTpi46VZxC0gp1xhHurDVszhmYib3ZVxzK-cj3aUnXnnbUlgJLrTOSoIpmwevmmAolypZrjWofrQaEgjSQQUg25beg7GoceSuBY7teuAzzO9k/s1600/SnipImage%25283%2529-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="466" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlijaiV89RqdIPkVbFjlmA5sohjQF9AlTpi46VZxC0gp1xhHurDVszhmYib3ZVxzK-cj3aUnXnnbUlgJLrTOSoIpmwevmmAolypZrjWofrQaEgjSQQUg25beg7GoceSuBY7teuAzzO9k/s400/SnipImage%25283%2529-001.JPG" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did it (Click to enlarge pictures)</td></tr>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tuesday found me heading up Castle Hill, determined to make it to the top a mile and 300ft of ascent ahead. I did, after one or two little rest stops. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A gentleman flying a drone was persuaded to photograph me in front of the tower. He was impressed when I explained I couldn't even walk 100 yds 4 days ago. I wanted the picture to prove I'd actually made it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveoTdGe0xNchluPQ-ESxZaGZ73Kcimz9Mkh59xBw80bE8XMGGAcBwByNwgTx5XpOwYNLkbdEgahVk4nVjrMoDGvSQlAmLjm1aqdspDhfPfRI8upOGAH370N3DYxrKtG4cPbaphZxDPhA/s1600/DSC02773-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="814" data-original-width="813" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveoTdGe0xNchluPQ-ESxZaGZ73Kcimz9Mkh59xBw80bE8XMGGAcBwByNwgTx5XpOwYNLkbdEgahVk4nVjrMoDGvSQlAmLjm1aqdspDhfPfRI8upOGAH370N3DYxrKtG4cPbaphZxDPhA/s400/DSC02773-001.JPG" width="398" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying a few reps...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
On Wednesday I was on a local cricket field attempting short repetitions, but at speed my left leg seemed reluctant to go the same way as me! After three or four attempts I opted for a steady circuit and called it a day.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Come Saturday evening my wonderful partner enquired "You wont be getting up for a run round Grimwith in the morning,will you?" "We'll see" I replied.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5g2WWjguM6Q-ZtwkqTTqb5rpe1uE7th_CHt0mxP9DcC65Z6p2EHqjhwPNo-eq1Jd7dlwu5QPN1cC3I6522a1zNrAJaU436B1p1wksDEoB7wO3seTYM9gzaz-A2Ti6JQstkZ9MiXv_uo/s1600/IMG_4626-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="1182" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5g2WWjguM6Q-ZtwkqTTqb5rpe1uE7th_CHt0mxP9DcC65Z6p2EHqjhwPNo-eq1Jd7dlwu5QPN1cC3I6522a1zNrAJaU436B1p1wksDEoB7wO3seTYM9gzaz-A2Ti6JQstkZ9MiXv_uo/s400/IMG_4626-002.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running round Grimwith reservoir, albeit slowly, 4 days after my TIA</td></tr>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Much to her surprise, at 6.30 I was out of bed and rarin' to go!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
After running the 4½ mile circuit I was back at the car ahead of her, leaned over the door laughing somewhat hysterically.<br />
Old Runningfox was back in action.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu9lM0rkQVkhma-z9Z5DdCGDnlelpboS9yVwN1kzOGRAza4-FkzWgUkN18ncThjUkCLXlJaA2KbiVrgJCSkuCtkfQmdA7JdzREd8p7IShrFwoeCT-i46LzCdB0cji05Zfw7MwjB0D76u8/s1600/IMG_4629-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1214" data-original-width="1600" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu9lM0rkQVkhma-z9Z5DdCGDnlelpboS9yVwN1kzOGRAza4-FkzWgUkN18ncThjUkCLXlJaA2KbiVrgJCSkuCtkfQmdA7JdzREd8p7IShrFwoeCT-i46LzCdB0cji05Zfw7MwjB0D76u8/s400/IMG_4629-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Made it, all the way round</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
OK, I was 13 minutes slower than usual, and maybe didn't look very stylish, but nine days earlier I was feeling distraught and wondering whether I'd ever run again.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I wont be running as often in future. I'd even considered changing the name of my blog to 'The online diary of a Geriatric Jogger' but 'jogger' is a dirty word among runners!<br />
Besides, I think I still look like a runner (?).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9VyLmmjvBZLEQ_-6hpte2EKmxY7S6L1dODE0jB7f7saGpl4XyrEhmpcb4gCKoTtnB9t_Nr_8YNuZSkfEyUeBg4Yosm0nexduf1BsSPD13zqKu8_QAofnL_wEfGe732cLe7SU7kYgeZI/s1600/IMG_4637-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1394" data-original-width="1600" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9VyLmmjvBZLEQ_-6hpte2EKmxY7S6L1dODE0jB7f7saGpl4XyrEhmpcb4gCKoTtnB9t_Nr_8YNuZSkfEyUeBg4Yosm0nexduf1BsSPD13zqKu8_QAofnL_wEfGe732cLe7SU7kYgeZI/s400/IMG_4637-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keeping going</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some days later, I tootled off on another hilly run accompanied by my wonderful partner.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBeNdWi91c5C0Xm6opbTNOlkKGPz-RSEnP1e86B1HGlTVOO8Sy7lv3-Mlj_-Gk7GnTjs_BWrVhVEeGWD7tHMLjiQ40XstIUvbWQ9K_obB3mpKb95EjyTZLRwnwvpqT2Ss1FgZtzSpcozs/s1600/DSC02836-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1209" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBeNdWi91c5C0Xm6opbTNOlkKGPz-RSEnP1e86B1HGlTVOO8Sy7lv3-Mlj_-Gk7GnTjs_BWrVhVEeGWD7tHMLjiQ40XstIUvbWQ9K_obB3mpKb95EjyTZLRwnwvpqT2Ss1FgZtzSpcozs/s400/DSC02836-001.JPG" width="301" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passing the mast on High Lane </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Embarrassed by my slowness I'd chosen a route where hopefully no-one would see us but was surprised to pass quite a few weekend walkers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSclzPrOb3lssCBxl1BfO85c71agUGUk_IdyB3YevacncvKRVIFVsRnWrYwsjiznC79X0RDavBu2xEJ155QaE6bVeqgesn7qLDpOcnXJDp4aLB7BcAw3nj5sZL1efeBA0lk2s0BEL3XTw/s1600/IMG_4642-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1600" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSclzPrOb3lssCBxl1BfO85c71agUGUk_IdyB3YevacncvKRVIFVsRnWrYwsjiznC79X0RDavBu2xEJ155QaE6bVeqgesn7qLDpOcnXJDp4aLB7BcAw3nj5sZL1efeBA0lk2s0BEL3XTw/s400/IMG_4642-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Through the gate on Tinker's Lane</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There were dark clouds, very little sunshine but intense humidity. We'd started out over-dressed and had to shed layers half way round.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtuYMAa8NXATQSyFPa82OHFHbFNo8n8z-NR_cbJiYNv2pCJtBx83exiUcWUbik4XSk_r0Sw1xU_LPMpPL3anlWRLrQ_cmpim-SwaRC4cDGCd27giNlB-lErYyb7jdKqw4_siu-Evj4wY/s1600/DSC02840-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1220" data-original-width="1600" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtuYMAa8NXATQSyFPa82OHFHbFNo8n8z-NR_cbJiYNv2pCJtBx83exiUcWUbik4XSk_r0Sw1xU_LPMpPL3anlWRLrQ_cmpim-SwaRC4cDGCd27giNlB-lErYyb7jdKqw4_siu-Evj4wY/s400/DSC02840-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delightful running on Tinker's Lane</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It had forecast thunderstorms so we were anxious to get home before they struck. But there were still things that stopped us in our tracks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs3qNtUjVaGwPwRMNgUROJ8wTVkm6f9A4oZYMvA7t2O0wC8loEpk_Dnox3NpKF_nS2EtHPDdngjZB8_jF-8TxbU0Dx0w70YZq9b96h1zn8CF0Xnkhv1EO6XtLbcLEm5M41bswXLyXfzdU/s1600/IMG_4643-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1266" data-original-width="1600" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs3qNtUjVaGwPwRMNgUROJ8wTVkm6f9A4oZYMvA7t2O0wC8loEpk_Dnox3NpKF_nS2EtHPDdngjZB8_jF-8TxbU0Dx0w70YZq9b96h1zn8CF0Xnkhv1EO6XtLbcLEm5M41bswXLyXfzdU/s400/IMG_4643-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flowering heather</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Like a patch of early flowering heather ahead of the 'Glorious Twelfth' that just had to be photographed and smelt.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZF7Z-vk-JYlSVweNkVcTlVSRFiecJAvl7qUPbMj0APkTqBP07N8IhPQRyj_34Mm85XUAVQJmRRHTRgVmtp9PlBcmK9kIiJakOGxsPfukzum5YEmpzbw62F-EEn3ZCJl_l3RGHQE38ZI/s1600/DSC02842-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="971" data-original-width="1461" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZF7Z-vk-JYlSVweNkVcTlVSRFiecJAvl7qUPbMj0APkTqBP07N8IhPQRyj_34Mm85XUAVQJmRRHTRgVmtp9PlBcmK9kIiJakOGxsPfukzum5YEmpzbw62F-EEn3ZCJl_l3RGHQE38ZI/s400/DSC02842-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey, wait for me...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
It came darker for a time, calling for us to put fastest foot forward and get on our way.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtEgbXhLp3yCDcqfdp9ct0OAmPquudDoIDPCP7w5P1McH4rOvYmDpnt3EIBb5LRzbtEqh1wCDxJFicOvyXak7qSVL5pSWqN08PSBgRtblCkd0iApRRru7M7U4lPhblDLjbQGEsJjYSGo/s1600/IMG_4646-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1312" data-original-width="1600" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtEgbXhLp3yCDcqfdp9ct0OAmPquudDoIDPCP7w5P1McH4rOvYmDpnt3EIBb5LRzbtEqh1wCDxJFicOvyXak7qSVL5pSWqN08PSBgRtblCkd0iApRRru7M7U4lPhblDLjbQGEsJjYSGo/s400/IMG_4646-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running under a cloud</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At this stage I was struggling to keep up as my wonderful partner tore off ahead, but was content to trundle along at my own speed, just happy to be out running again after the recent trauma.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNmAvfyicidsGOJLc3fcl9GjKzKo5H8fNcq44KSYw-KIGxMCk4uhof1qAOh4dRckDvwW0h4tdiDBXK2StGl6eIrqvwwqKXXj7BrOIQ6YnByn-g9AnAbHjYud0cgNZTfxm2UdoO0sj1to/s1600/IMG_4647-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1354" data-original-width="1600" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNmAvfyicidsGOJLc3fcl9GjKzKo5H8fNcq44KSYw-KIGxMCk4uhof1qAOh4dRckDvwW0h4tdiDBXK2StGl6eIrqvwwqKXXj7BrOIQ6YnByn-g9AnAbHjYud0cgNZTfxm2UdoO0sj1to/s400/IMG_4647-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the gate by High Garnshaw</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Reaching the gate by High Garnshaw farm the air was filled with the bleating of penned sheep, possibly waiting to be stripped of their woolly coats.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYWDm4wQAsqXNWo3fMk9TOuZtE8Wth5dTm8oJ5QwR29xUCOn6eRPWSTT9y2EFI8lU3xUSdrb7afes4X1Motj9ew5XY36TUIVdnmihuO66JTKlXHavK2UMx1HJHtk_dzKiIONOHTPKkUs/s1600/DSC02843-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1271" data-original-width="1600" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYWDm4wQAsqXNWo3fMk9TOuZtE8Wth5dTm8oJ5QwR29xUCOn6eRPWSTT9y2EFI8lU3xUSdrb7afes4X1Motj9ew5XY36TUIVdnmihuO66JTKlXHavK2UMx1HJHtk_dzKiIONOHTPKkUs/s400/DSC02843-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meadowsweet in the ghyll</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We pressed on, down the ghyll, past nodding harebells and fragrant meadowsweet to arrive home dry so far as rain was concerned but otherwise soaked in sweaty gear that went straight into the washer to freshen up..<br />
Ready for next week....</div>
</div>
oldrunningfox.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12113281696954817545noreply@blogger.com22